Harry Potter and the American Exchange
by Theodore Green
Summary: After the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry reports to the Auror Department. After undergoing psychological evaluation, Harry is rejected from becoming an Auror. Plunged into uncertainty about his future, Harry (along with Hermione, Neville, and Draco Malfoy) embarks on the American Exchange study magic abroad and complete his education to find where he belongs in the wizarding world.
1. Chapter 1: Duty Calls

Full Summary:

Shortly after the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry is evaluated for Auror candidacy and denied acceptance into the Auror Academy due to his declining mental state. He is advised by Minerva McGonigall to continue his magical education by way of the American Exchange, a program which has been recently reinstated at the conclusion of the War. Students who participate in the American Exchange are required to spend a full year studying in the United States of American at one of the 11 American magic schools. Harry, in an attempt to escape the press in England, agrees, and attends the Pacific Transfiguration Institute in Portland, Oregon; Neville, having also been rejected by the Auror Academy, chooses to study at the Sonoran Herbology Institute in Tucson, Arizona; Hermione, wanting to complete her magical education regardless, becomes the first Hogwarts student in 50 years to be admitted to the American Sorcerer's Academy in New York, New York; and Draco Malfoy, taking some time from the climate in England to restore his family name abroad, attends the Laveau Potioneering Institute in New Orleans, Louisiana. Each of the four students participating in the American Exchange learn new things about themselves and the world in which the live, and deeper, darker secrets seem to float to the surface as they complete their educations and try to find where they belong in the wizarding world.

Possible warnings in the story include mature content in the forms of strong sexual themes, slash, gore, mild to medium violence, and adult situations. This story will be psychological and visceral, but it will feature some very humorous scenes as well.

Hope you enjoy!

oOo

Chapter 1: Duty Calls

As Harry, Ron, and Hermione prepared to leave the Headmasters study and head to Gryffindor Tower, Harry turned to them and said, "Wait. I just want to ask them one more thing."

Ron and Hermione looked at him, surprised, and stood quietly at the door, expecting him to speak again. When he did not, Hermione nudged Ron, who grabbed the doorknob and pulled the door open, and it wasn't entirely clear whether it was Ron or Hermione who escorted the other out.

After watching the other two leave the room ahead of him, Harry went to the door and gently closed it again, listening to the others talk softly on their way down the revolving spiral staircase outside. After making sure they couldn't hear him, he spun around in the room again, looking at all the portraits of previous Headmasters and Headmistresses beaming at him. He saw in their faces pride and thankfulness for what he had done today, but he also saw something else in the eyes of some of them, and those expectant looks from the previous Heads of Hogwarts made him very uneasy indeed. He strode over to the portrait of Dumbledore, who was resting the tips of his index fingers together and gazed intently on his greatest accomplishment.

Harry opened and closed his mouth, and the words to his next question ghosted in his mind several times over. He had been thinking about what he was about to say since he had dueled Voldemort in the Great Hall, and amid the celebration and the mourning and the contentment he felt over the conclusion of the War, he was still frightened by the prospect of what he was about to ask.

Dumbledore lowered his fingers and leaned forward in the high-backed chair on which he was painted. Harry looked at him anxiously, and leaned in close to the portrait and whispered, "What do I do next?"

Dumbledore didn't move for a moment, but then he leaned back in the chair on which he was painted. He looked up, a thoughtful expression on his face, and said, "You know as well as I do what the future holds. All I know is that whatever you do with your life, my dear man, it will be spectacular."

Harry looked at Dumbledore, and then he looked down at the floor. He suddenly felt more exhausted than ever, and a bit ill. Dumbledore ran a hand through his long beard and said, "I was under the impression that you'd wanted to be an Auror after you left Hogwarts."

Harry looked up at Dumbledore again, and he nodded briefly. Harry said, "First I think I need some sleep."

Dumbledore replied, "I agree. You need rest. A well-rested mind is the key to making any big decision."

With that, Harry took one more long, droopy look at the portrait of Albus Dumbledore, who smiled fondly at him, turned on one foot, and strode across the room again, pulled open the door, and said, "Thanks."

oOo

Ron and Hermione were waiting for him at the bottom of the spiral staircase. They were sitting on the floor next to the head of the gargoyle that once guarded the entrance to the Headmasters' Study. They were holding hands, and Hermione was nestled into the space between Ron's shoulder and head. When he got of the staircase, they looked up and him, stood up, and faced him.

Harry could tell that they were happier now than they had been in months, but Ron looked defeated and Hermione distinctly concerned. It was Hermione who spoke first, and she said, "Do you want to go to Gryffindor Tower, then?"

Harry looked at her, and nodded.

She joined hands with both Ron and Harry, and they walked the familiar path of the shattered and smoldering castle to the Fat Lady's portrait, which they found, blasted off its hinges. They looked around the corridor, and saw no one approaching from either end, and the ascended through the portrait hold to find the Gryffindor common room in ruin.

It had burnt completely. The once comfortable chairs were lying on their sides, charred and broken. The carpet was still burning in places, and the tables were cracked and blackened. The worst what was sitting in front of the fireplace, and when they approached it, Ron covered his nose and swore loudly and Hermione let out a scream.

It was a corpse, burnt to a crisp, its blood staining the floor, utterly unrecognizable par the Gryffindor emblem on its tattered robes. It was the size of a child, and it couldn't have been older than First or Second year. Above it, words were painted on the mantle in what was unmistakably blood:

_GRYFFINDORS, BRAVE AND TRUE._

Hermione turned away into Ron, who looked disgusted and horrified at the tragedy in front of them. Harry turned slightly and fell to his knees and vomited onto the floor.

oOo

Minerva McGonagall had come running as soon as she had received the message from the silvery otter saying there had been an incident in what remained of the Gyffindor common room. When she approached the room, she saw the Fat Lady's portrait lying on the floor left of the portrait hole, and Harry sitting on the floor next on the right of it.

"What is it, Potter?"

Harry looked up at her, his face blank and he said, with no change in expression and no inflection on his voice, "We found another body."

McGonagall stiffened, and continued, "Do you know who it is? Could you identify it?"

Harry shook his head, staring at the floor, and replied, "Hermione and Ron are still in there, trying to figure out what happened, but I… I didn't want to stay."

McGonagall studied Harry Potter for a while on the back of his words. The boy looked completely drained, both physically and emotionally. He looked sick and frail, and by her reckoning, he could only really be a shadow of the person she had taught for six years, especially after what he had gone through tonight.

McGonagall raised her wand, and directed it down the corridor, and said, "Potter, I am very concerned for your wellbeing. I will call Madam Pomfrey…"

"Professor, I think Madam Pomfrey has enough on her plate at the moment," said Harry, a stony look in his eyes. He continued, "I think I'll be fine."

"Mr. Potter, you need…"

"I need sleep, Professor."

There was no denying that, certainly. Minerva said to Harry, "Potter, I will call Madam Pomfrey for some Dreamless Sleep. It's the very least we can do, and you'll need it."

"I'm all right, Professor," said Harry, and he got up, and began to walk away, saying, "I just need to be alone. Everything's better when I'm alone. No one else gets hurt."

With a sigh, Minerva muttered, "Expecto Patronum." Two silvery cats issued from the tip of her wand. One cantered down the corridor past Harry, turned down another corridor, and vanished from sight. The other slinked along beside Harry, and when Harry stopped, the Patronus slid along his leg gently. He reached down and scratched it behind the ears.

"Harry," said McGonagall, "I cannot allow you to be alone at the moment."

He turned back and looked at her blankly, and a small, wistful smile sneaked onto his face. He said, his voice low, "Thanks, Professor."

oOo

Minerva McGonagall was utterly unprepared for the sight that greeted her eyes upon entering what was once the Gryffindor common room. The room she remembered so well, not only after 40 years of teaching but after her years of learning at Hogwarts, when she could call the place no less than familiar, was completely unrecognizable. And the sight of Ronald Weasley, his head bowed low over the corpse on the floor, and of Hermione Granger, who was examining the terrible message left on the mantle, was almost too much to bear.

Her two former students raised their heads and turned towards her when she came into the room. The faces of Ron and Hermione were grave, but there was a sort of distant professionalism to both of them, as though this was some usual crime scene and they were the lead investigators. McGonagall cleared her throat and said, "I do not expect you to solve this mystery at the moment."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at her former teacher and said, "Professor, don't insult my intelligence. You taught me for six years. Whether you expect it or not, I wanted to know what happened here. From what I can reason, this student was Cruciated, and then his or her blood was siphoned while he or she was still alive to make the message. The message is permanently written on the mantle, but I'm not yet sure how the murderer did it. Only then was he or she killed, though I'm not sure it was by loss of blood or the Killing Curse."

Ron nodded, "The student was set on fire after he or she was killed. Probably burned while the rest of the room was burning. He or she was moved into this position before the fire started, because he or she melted onto the floor, and there would've been no way to have moved the corpse into the position before the fire begun."

McGonagall blinked and stiffened, "Please do not touch anything. I will, in due course have an Auror team come up here to do a full investigation."

Ron and Hermione exchanged a grim look, and McGonagall continued, "I think you two would make an excellent team in investigative work, but I don't want you to spend any more energy today on catching those responsible. There will be time to persecute and punish those responsible for the destruction of this castle and the deaths of its inhabitants. That time is not now, at least not for you. I want you to rest, and I want you to have time with your family and friends."

"Where's Harry, Professor?"

McGonagall whipped out her wand, and said, "Patronum Revelio."

At that moment, a silvery mirror appeared above her, which showed her Patronus that she had sent along with Potter, pacing back and forth along a blank stretch of wall on the seventh floor corridor, mewing and spitting loudly. She sighed deeply and thankfully, and replied, "He's safe, but he's alone."

oOo

To be truthful, Harry didn't even know if his plan to achieve solitude would work. He didn't know if the Fiendfyre had indeed broken the enchantments on the room, or if it would ever work again. But, to him, escaping to the Room of Requirement was worth trying.

To his amazement, though bleak and unrelenting his amazement was, after passing by that blank stretch of wall thrice, thinking about being alone and trying to forget about everything that had happened to him and praying that it would all work out, the door appeared. Harry stepped inside, and found himself content with what he found.

It was a small white room. There was a bed in one corner, a daybed in another with a few glossy books laid out on a table in front of it, and another chair sitting across from the bed. Something about the simplicity of the room reminded him of King's Cross, and if there was a purgatory, something clicked in Harry's mind that this must be it. Without thinking about what he was doing, Harry crossed the room, placed the Elder Wand, the wand that once belonged to Draco Malfoy, and his holly wand on the bedside table, kicked off his shoes, undressed to his underwear, and crawled into the bed. He pulled off his glasses, put them on the same bedside table on which he hand just placed the two wands, and then pulled the blankets over his aching body.

Harry didn't know what the bed was made out of, but it reminded him of what lying on a cloud must feel like, and with that singular thought racing through his mind, he immediately fell asleep.

oOo

Upon further search of the school, six more bodies were found like the one found in the remains of Gryffindor Tower. McGonagall was pacing back and forth in what was now her study, something she had seen Albus do on countless occasions. She had hoped that after the terrible process of retrieving each unrecognizable corpse and trying everything she could to remove the horrible graffiti from the walls at each of the sites that she would get some sort of levity from the repetitive motion that she had seen him practice, but no new solution came to her. In the aftermath of the battle and the stark discovery of how much damage had been done to the castle and to its inhabitants, she felt more conscious of her position than she ever had before: she was in charge of rebuilding the castle, she was the one who need to be omnipresent at the funerals of the fallen defenders of Hogwarts, and she was required to be the steadfast force necessary in order to reopen the school in the fall. All that power and responsibility fell on her as the new Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

A small cough came from the space behind the Head's desk, and Albus Dumbledore said, "Minerva, if I may, would it be appropriate of me to ask what it is that is troubling you so?"

McGonagall turned to face him, and stiffly replied, "No, Albus, it would not be inappropriate for you to ask that. I," she paused, measuring the flurry of thoughts in her mind into words of equal impact, "am very concerned about the amount of work that I must attend to in the near future."

Dumbledore inclined his head, "It is my experience that there will never be enough time, so we must make do with the limited quantity of it that we have."

"It is not a question of time management," said McGonagall, perhaps a little more coldly than she'd meant to.

"Of course not, my dear," corrected Dumbledore at once. "You've always been remarkably good with time management."

McGonagall narrowed her eyes at the portrait, who grinned hopefully back at her, and said, "How do you do that?"

Dumbledore serenely replied, "I'm afraid I don't understand you, Minerva. 'That' is an undeclared pronoun. As you know, many people used undeclared pronouns in regular speech, and I have to say, with the way people talk to each other, I'm not quite sure how anyone understand anything else anyone says. Sometimes I believe we should offer courses in grammar at a school such as this."

McGonagall blinked.

"I know what it is that troubles you, Minerva. You are concerned for the stability of the school and for its students, past and present. You are concerned for the wellbeing of the families who have lost so many loved ones. You are concerned for the wellbeing of Harry Potter, whom, I fear is not prepared for the position into which he has been thrust. Most of all, however you are concerned for yourself, and whether you will be able to maintain a level head throughout all of this."

McGonagall looked at the portrait of Albus Dumbledore for a few moments, in which silently she communicated, without knowing it, that all Dumbledore's guesses had been correct. She turned away from him, pulled out the high-backed chair, and sat down at the desk. She laid her arms on the table and closed her eyes, hoping that there would be good news soon. When she opened them and there was no such news, she said, "You are, as always, right, Albus."

Dumbledore spoke from behind her, saying, "You give me more credit than I deserved, Minerva. It was not I who rid the world of Lord Voldemort this morning, and it was not I who was able to protect the school from his forces last night. You have proven time and time again that you are a spectacular witch and even more impressive person, and you will be strong enough to rebuild the reputation of this school. You are the most steadfast person I knew in life and I have all the confidences I did then that I do now. You can and will ask yourself if you are capable of doing everything you must, and I will tell you that the answer is yes, you can. You are Minerva McGonagall, and you have provided evidence than you can do anything to which you set your mind."

At that moment, Rubeus Hagrid entered the office. Hagrid was looking elated and he said, his booming voice crashing against the silence of the office, "Professor McGonagall, th' most amazin' thing is happening to th' castle!"

Professor McGonagall, taken aback, furrowed her eyebrows and said, "What is it, Hagrid?"

"Hogwarts is repairing itself, Professor."

McGonagall looked nonplussed, turning to Albus, who nodded once, smiling widely. He said, "The Founders always thought it would be best that if the school was ever considerably damaged, then there would be a system in place that would manage the repairs. I do not believe that the system has ever determined that there have been as extensive of damages as the damages that occurred tonight, so as far as I know, there has never been any need for the system to activate. Hogwarts is much like a living organism: there may be remnants of the trials and tribulations that this school has undergone, but if it is wounded, the place will heal itself. There may be some permanent scarring, but, well, there are reasons that I never fully fixed my nose. Hogwarts will heal, Minerva. It will take time, but everything will be all right."

Minerva looked a Dumbledore gratefully and said, "I never knew."

He said, "You would have, had you thoroughly read Hogwarts: A History."

She gave him a piercing but playful look, moved around the desk in one swift movement, her cloak billowing behind her, walking around Hagrid, eager to see the miracles of Hogwarts once more. Hagrid looked at Dumbledore, who flashed him a glittering smile from his gilded frame and said, "Thank you, Hagrid, for such marvelous and prudent news. I was beginning to wonder when the enchantments would begin to retake the school."

Hagrid beamed at the portrait, "No problem, Professor."

Hagrid took several massive steps to the door and beat McGonagall to it, who ushered him forward in front of her, perhaps out of politeness, but more likely out of fear for being trampled in the half-giant's glee. When Hagrid had descended the staircase McGonagall turned back to Dumbledore and said, "Thank you, Albus."

Dumbledore held up his hand in a wave and said, "Minerva, this is your office now. I imagine we will be seeing rather a lot of each other."

Minerva crossed to the door, but before she had left, Dumbledore said, "Wait, Minerva, I've just had a thought!"

Though she was quite sure Dumbledore had not just had this thought but was instead waiting for precisely the right moment to voice it, McGonagall replied, "What is it, Albus?"

Dumbledore straightened up to his full (and still considerable) height in high chair and said, "I think, having managed to solve the conflicts that have plagued this magical nation for the better part of this century, you should consider contacting our peers overseas. Reinstate our international friendships and rebuild the programs that have disintegrated during our war."

McGonagall was again surprised by this sudden revelation. She said, "I will do what I can, Albus."

Albus Dumbledore gave her one last twinkling look and said, "Which is to say that you will do it damn well."

McGonagall smiled to herself and left the room, closing the door gently behind her.

oOo

When Hagrid and McGonagall reached the Entrance Hall, they were assaulted by a throng of people; among them were their fellow Hogwarts faculty members and members of the Order of the Phoenix alike. Minerva opened her mouth to speak, but Molly Weasley cut across her, "You'll never believe what's happening in the Great Hall, Minerva."

With that, Minerva was led into the Great Hall by her entourage of friends and peers, and she was greeted by a sight that even after having published papers on the extraordinary properties of transfiguration was dazzling to the eye.

Bricks were floating where the candles would have been during any Hogwarts feast, and they were gluing themselves with the mortar that was appearing from nowhere back to their original positions on the walls of the Hall. The tables, previously splintered and smashed, were reassembling themselves, parts of them drawn to the pieces of furniture as though by magnetism. The enchanted ceiling was pulling shingles up from the base of the cliff Hogwarts was rested on, and they were becoming once again translucent so all could see the stark blue sky above them. The windows were melding outside their frames, each becoming an elaborate scene from the history of the school in ornate moving stained glass depictions.

Hogwarts was repairing itself, and Minerva knew that one day it would be even grander than it was before. Albus was right: Hogwarts would heal, and she would be strong enough to watch. All would be well someday.

oOo

Ron and Hermione walked along the seventh floor corridor to the place where they knew the Room of Requirement was. McGonagall's silvery cat, which was lounging on the floor in front of it, looked up at them wistfully, and then vanished into silver vapor. Ron and Hermione looked at that blank stretch of wall for several minutes, holding hands, wishing that their best friends in the world would reappear.

Hermione was first to break the silence, "Do you think he'll ever come out?"

"If it were me," said Ron flatly. "I don't think I would."

oOo

It was night when Harry awoke in the Room of Requirement. He had clearly slept most of the day. He fumbled for his glasses on the bedside table, and rammed them onto his face. He got up, pulled on the robe that had materialized suddenly on the table beside the bed, and went to sit on one of the white couches when he noticed a roll of parchment sitting on one of the tables in the middle of the room. He unfurled it, and read:

_Dear Mr. Harry James Potter,_

_It is my request that you report to the Ministry of Magic Auror Headquarters at 8:00 AM tomorrow to begin immediate consideration for the Auror Academy. Report directly to my office, where we will discuss your candidacy as an Auror with the faculty of the Academy and the Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt._

_Sincerely,_

_Gawain Robards_

_Head Auror_

Harry read the letter through twice, yawned, and returned to bed, knowing that he would need his energy for his visit to the Ministry tomorrow. He took off his glasses again, turned over his pillow, and drifted back to sleep again.

oOo

A/N: Well, here it is. I've been reading Harry Potter fanfiction since there was Harry Potter fanfiction, but, until now, I've never tried my hand at writing it.

I'll update this about every Tuesday, because arbitrarily picking a day and sticking to it seems like the only way I'll ever finish anything.

I'm still looking for a regular Beta for this fic.

Thank you, as always, for reading.

-Theo Green


	2. Chapter 2: Aptitude

Chapter 2: Aptitude

Harry awoke the next morning to find his bed unmistakably vibrating. He groggily looked over to the bedside table, where his glasses and the two wands had been usurped by half a dozen alarm clocks of various sizes, all reading that it was half past six in the morning and ringing incessantly. Harry sighed, and rolled over, but his bed was vibrating so much now that it would be impossible for him to go back to sleep. He rolled his eyes, leaned up, put his feet on the floor, and the bed immediately stopped vibrating and the clocks stopped ringing.

It took Harry a moment to remember where he was and what had happened over the last 72 hours. The memories of Gringotts and the battle started as a trickle, and then they came like a train, colliding with him full blast. He shook uncontrollably, and he closed his eyes again, wish more than anything that he could go back to sleep again, when the memory of the letter he had received about the Auror department blocked out all the other memories of those that were lost in the last crusade of Lord Voldemort. He opened up his eyes and looked at the place where he knew the letter was, and he huffed. Today was going to be a long day.

Harry fumbled for his glasses and all the alarm clocks disappeared at once, making his search for them easier. When he put them on, he noticed that the otherwise blank wall directly in front of him was expanding outwards, and a bathroom was forming instantaneously in front of him. He got up, and walked directly to the shower, which, when he turned on the tap and water came streaming down, was immediately the right temperature for him. He took off his underwear and got into the shower, and the shower adapted to his preference for water pressure at once.

"You're making it too easy," he grumbled to the room, and the water in his shower turned momentarily ice cold. He jumped out of the way and swore loudly, and the water turned back to its original temperature.

After washing what seemed like several layers of life from his body, and when he felt significantly less covered in grime, mud, and blood, he turned off the tap and left the shower, in which a shower mat appeared directly under his feet. He picked up a few of the towels that certainly were not there before he got into the shower, and he dried himself. When he left the bathroom, he noticed that the letter from the night previous was sitting on his bed, along with a freshly pressed set of bottle green robes. He pulled on the robes, grabbed the two wands from his bedside table and the furl of parchment from his bed, strode over to the door at the other end of the room, and found Ron waiting in the corridor beyond.

oOo

When the door to the Room of Requirement materialized on the stretch of wall that Ron was pacing in front of and Harry emerged, looking dapper in new robes, he started. He said, "Harry! How are you, mate?"

Harry, clearly unprepared for the accosting he received from his best friend, looked up at Ron as though he were in a trance. He recited, not wanting to concern his friend at all, "I'm all right, Ron. How are you?"

"I'm as good as I could be, I guess," Ron said, a little wistfully, "With everything that's happen, I dunno if we really can be all right."

He and Harry looked at each other for a few moments, and then Harry said, "Where's Hermione?"

"At the Burrow," Ron replied at once. "Everyone's there. When you went into the Room of Requirement, one of McGonagall's patronuses patrolled the corridor until Hermione and I came to look for you, and we've been waiting for you in shifts. Ginny too; she's in a right state. Wanted to talk to you all night. When you didn't come out, she left to get some sleep. The family's been gathered at the Burrow because we need to plan for helping rebuild the magical world. It's become sort of a headquarters for the Order. Well," he paused, frowning, "What's left of the Order, that is."

Harry closed his eyes again, remember everyone who died yesterday, even if they already felt a life time away. Tonks, Lupin, Snape, Colin Creevey, Fred… The names echoed in his head again, pressing a tattoo to his brain. And Ginny… Ginny wanted to talk to him about everything, for him to be there for her and for her to be there for him…

Today really was shaping up to be a long day.

"Harry?"

Harry opened his eyes and looked at his best friend again, giving him a halfhearted attempt at a grin, and said, "I got a letter last night from the Head Auror, Gawain-"

"Robards?" said Ron, looking pleased. "Yeah, I thought you'd probably get one. That's why I came to get you this morning; I got one too."

"Really?" said Harry, though not surprised at all. Ron had proven himself plenty worthy of being an Auror after galumphing around the country on a mad search to find Voldemort's Horcruxes with him all year.

"Yeah, and I thought we could go down to the Ministry together," said Ron, clearly having planned it out. "McGonagall's waiting for us in her office; we're taking the Floo directly into Robards' study."

"Why?" Harry asked, though he thought he knew the answer already.

Ron looked down sheepishly, and mumbled, "Rita Skeeter."

"She's not getting an interview with me, no way," Harry said darkly.

"It's not… just her," said Ron, trying to evade the issue and failing.

Harry sighed, realizing that every reporter in Britain wanted to know the innermost thoughts and reactions of Harry Potter, the Boy who Lived (twice, now), the Chosen one, and their glorious Savior.

"I'm never going to get another moment alone, am I?" Harry said dully.

"Not if they had their way," Ron growled. "So that's why we're taking the Floo from McGonagall's office."

They started walking along the seventh floor corridor, almost absentmindedly, toward the Headmistress' Study. While they were walking, Harry noticed an odd glow about the castle, and upon looking up, noticed that there was a steady flow of bricks and cement above them, like some sort of bizarre upside-down river flowing through the corridors. He turned to Ron and opened his mouth to ask what was happening, but Ron cut across him and said, "Hogwarts is repairing itself, mate. It's like everything's going to be new again."

Harry found some sort of peace in this. He was glad at least Hogwarts found the will to live on.

When they reached the Headmistress's Study not long after, they found themselves barred by the newly fixed gargoyle, which gave them an imperious raise of an eyebrow and inquired, "Password?"

Harry and Ron turned to look at each other and said, "We don't have the password."

The gargoyle smirked at them surreptitiously, but before he could say anything else, he leapt aside, for McGonagall had come down to meet them.

McGonagall turned to the gargoyle and said, "That's quite enough, Archimedes. Come."

She beckoned for Harry and Ron to follow her up the revolving staircase, and said as they ascended, "Mr. Weasley, when you get to my office, you should go ahead. I will need to discuss a few things with Mr. Potter while you meet with the Minister and the Auror department concerning your aptitude for the Academy."

"Why, Professor?" Ron asked suspiciously. "Can't we talk to the department together?"

"No, Mr. Weasley," said McGonagall knowingly, "The Ministry has always been very particular about the private matters of each of its agents. They will want to test you on your physical and mental capabilities and assess whether you are capable of Auror training."

Ron exchanged a dark look with Harry. The Ministry did a lot of things of which they didn't approve.

Once they were in the office, and all the previous headmasters and headmistresses were gazing down upon them with anticipation lighting their faces, McGonagall pointed towards the fireplace, and Ron grabbed a handful of floor powder from the mantle, tossed it if the fire, stepped in and shouted, "Robards office!"

With a burst of emerald flames, he was gone, leaving McGonagall to swivel around on the spot and gaze at Harry.

"Potter," she said professionally, "have a seat."

Harry sat in the chair that he had become so familiar with during his lessons with Dumbledore, while McGonagall sat opposite him.

"Well, Mr. Potter, we have quite a bit to discuss," she said briskly. "How are you?"

"Fine," said Harry, without emotion or hesitation.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Professor."

"Are you nervous?"

"No, Professor."

McGonagall surveyed him again, not convinced that he was being honest with her, but also not willing to press the issue further. She breathed in, and out again, and the said solemnly, "We need to discuss the arrangements for the services of those who died in the service of Hogwarts, and of those who died in the service of Voldemort, and of the body of Voldemort himself."

Harry was taken by surprise at this. He cleared his throat, "Voldemort, Professor?"

"Yes, Harry, Voldemort," she said passively, though her nostrils flared at the mention of the name. "His body remains in the castle, and we need to decide what to do with his remains."

"I don't want to be involved."

McGonagall looked him over carefully, noticing how he was on edge at the mention of the man who had sought the boy's death for so long. She said, "Well, then, I imagine we will see if there is a will on file with the Ministry and go from there. There are protocols to be followed in his case."

Harry didn't respond in the slightest at these words, which, to some extent, seriously worried Minerva McGonagall.

When he continued to make no reply, she continued, "As for his followers who perished, I think the same treatment?"

No reply came from Harry Potter. She continued still, "As for those on our side, Harry?"

Harry softly snapped to attention, and said, "I think Lupin and Tonks should be buried in Godric's Hollow, with my parents."

"I heartily agree," McGonagall replied, some of her concern for the boy subsiding. "And the others…?"

"Return their bodies to their families," said Harry slowly, "Like Cedric."

"Like Cedric," she repeated, her voice full of sorrow and wonder. She intoned the words Dumbledore had said nearly three years ago, "Remember Cedric Diggory."

Harry went silent again, and she relapsed from her reverie as well, "There is also the matter of the inevitable trials for the surviving Death Eaters, for which I would expect that the Ministry will want you present. I would be shocked if they would try any Death Eaters without you there. In fact, I imagine they will want full testimony from you. I can accompany you to the Ministry, of course, but I do not know if I will be admitted into the Wizengamot's chambers with you."

"I should go," said Harry, coming out of his catonic state again, "I have testimony I should present."

"Such as?" McGonagall pressed gently.

"Narcissa Malfoy saved me in the Forbidden Forest," Harry said thoughtfully. "And Draco Malfoy saved me at Malfoy Manor."

McGonagall raised her eyebrows, and said, "Beyond the Malfoys, what else do you have to present?"

"Snape," said Harry reverently, and the portrait of Albus Dumbledore nodded vigorously behind McGonagall.

"Severus is dead," McGonagall said in a measured voice. "Severus Snape is dead, but he is not forgotten. He will be honored appropriately, especially considering your testimony."

Shortly after that proclamation, a spotty-faced youth, poked his head through the fire and said, "Robards is ready for Mr. Potter now, Professor."

McGonagall got up immediately and signaled for Harry to do the same. He got up out of the chair, but before turning to the flames again, he reached into his robes and pulled out the Elder Wand, in which he laid it on the desk between them.

McGonagall picked it up, and examined it carefully. She said, caution evident in her voice, "This is the Elder Wand?"

Harry nodded.

"It was buried with Albus?"

Harry nodded again, and said, "Can you return it to him for me?"

McGonagall turned and looked at the portrait of Dumbledore, who nodded sycophantically. She turned and place in the on the desk again and said, "It will be done."

"Thank you, Professor."

Harry approached the fireplace, grabbed a handful or Floo powder, and stood on the hearth. McGonagall cleared her throat again, and said, "Harry?"

He turned and looked at her.

She said, "Hogwarts will always be your home."

He replied in that same dull voice she'd heard from him all morning, "It was Voldemort's home too."

And with that, he said, "Robard's office," and tossed the Floo powder into the fire, and departed, leaving a dazed and forlorn McGonagall in his stead.

oOo

Harry stepped out of the Floo network and into Robard's office, which was a spacious, warm room. On one end of the room, there was an array of heads of various both magical and Muggle creatures mounted on plaques on the wall, and on the other end was a magnificent wooden desk, where seated was a tall man wearing red robes who was clearly Gawain Robards. He looked quite a bit different than the last Head Auror and Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour: he was lanky and pointed, and his hair was neatly cropped, giving him the vaguely menacing look of a large scarecrow. Across from him sat the newly appointed Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"Ah," said Robards, in a steely voice, standing up and striding forwards, holding out hand to Harry, "Harry Potter. I am glad that we can finally meet."

Harry shook his hand, and said, "I got your owl."

"And thank goodness for that," Robards smiled, showing his slight snaggletooth. "We'd hoped you'd come."

Kingsley, who had remained quiet for this introduction, got up serenely and said, "Have a seat Harry."

Harry followed the instructions of the Minister, and the Head Auror sat across from him. Robards began twiddling his thumbs, and he said, "Mr. Potter, I just wanted to welcome you formally to the Auror Department at the Ministry of Magic. I hope that you will have a pleasant visit to our offices, and will consider us for your future employment.

"I would like to take this opportunity to put you through the aptitude tests necessary for starting your Auror training. Despite your incomplete education, you seem to possess the nerve and the skills we value and respect in an Auror. Would you be interested in completing the testing?"

Harry nodded curtly.

"Excellent," said Robards, flashing his snaggletooth again, "We will begin at once. Follow Minister Shacklebolt out to your first testing center, and I hope to see you at the end to have you join our ranks!"

And Kingsley got up, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder, and he began making his way to the door. Harry followed, looking back at Robards and trying to manage as warm a smile as Robards was giving him.

oOo

A/N: Thank you to all the kind follows and reviews. No wonder so many people write fanfiction: recieving praise for your work feels... good.

Sorry this chapter is so short. I've also decided to update every four days, because waiting to post the next chapter is killing me. I don't have a patience to keep up the suspense.

Next update will be on Saturday! Let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3: Evaluation

Chapter 3: Evaluation

Harry followed Kingsley out of Robards' office and down a hallway lined with pictures of the Death Eaters who were still at large. Harry tried to avert his eyes as they cast nasty looks his direction. A few of them had no hesitation in making rude hand gestures at him, sticking out their tongues or yelling muted catcalls at him. Kingsley cleared his throat and rumbled back at him, "I appreciate that you were so keen on responding to Robards' letter, Harry. We need all the help we can get from the Auror Department if we want to round up the remaining Death Eaters, secure fair trials, and rebuild the Ministry of Magic to its former glory."

Though, as always, Kingsley's words were those of comfort, Harry privately thought that the idea of their being glory in government was a very rich idea indeed.

Kingsley led him through the labyrinth of hallways in the Auror Department, which was largely deserted. As if in answer to this, Kingsley said, "We've mobilized the entire department over the last 24 hours for various missions across the country. I've been directly involved with overseeing the operations."

Kingsley led him to a door at the end of a long hallway, and when they got to the door itself, Kingsley spun around to face Harry, and said slowly, "There are three examinations that you will undergo in the next rooms. In order, they are your physical examination, your theoretical examination, and psychological examination. Your physical examination will test your skills in magic and defense, as well as your fitness and health. The theoretical examination will assess your decisions in the field and how the match up to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement Code of Conduct. Lastly, the psychological examination will assess your mental preparedness to face the situations in which Aurors can be placed. Good luck and I will await your results."

He opened the door to the room, and Harry entered.

Harry's first impression of the room was that of a Muggle gymnasium. It had high ceilings and a rather open feel to it. There was quite a bit of exercise equipment sitting in one corner of the room, which Harry imagined was regularly used by Aurors to stay in adequate shape for the work they did. In another corner of the room there were a few beaten-up dummies which had clearly been used as targets on which to practice spells and curses. In the center of the room was a man who was nearly entirely clad in metallic armor. He had steely grey eyes and a long nose, with a scar down one side of his face.

"Welcome, Mr. Potter," the man said in a booming baritone, his face twisted in a semi-permanent smirk. "I am Evan Prenticoat, Auror Academy Coach. If you make it through today's battery of examinations, we will be seeing quite a lot of each other."

Harry nodded, and Prenticoat started towards him, wand raised. Harry instinctively raised his own wand, preparing to defend himself, but Prenticoat laughed, "What are you, mad? Like I'm going to curse Harry Potter out of the blue. I'm running some diagnostics on your physical attributes, rookie."

Harry lowered his wand slowly and muttered something under his breath.

Prenticoat squawked, "What was that? You should speak more loudly if you're going to argue with me."

"Constant vigilance," Harry said, louder this time, as Prenticoat began circling around him like a vulture, scavenging for missing details in Harry's appearance.

Prenticoat surveyed Harry with a look of surprise and suspicion as Moody's mantra echoed through his mind. He spoke again, "Alastor Moody was my mentor, Potter. You don't need to 'constant vigilance' me."

The man stopped circling Harry and said, "In future, you will me as Coach Prenticoat or simply Coach. Your physical diagnostics are fine, Potter. A little thin for my tastes, but if you're accepted to the Academy, we'll bulk you up."

"Thank you, Coach."

Prenticoat walked back to the middle of the room, and this time he pointed his wand directly at Harry and said, "You know how to duel, right, Potter? All those close encounters with the Dark Lord taught you something, surely?"

Harry raised his wand high over his head and nodded curtly.

"Then we begin," said Prenticoat.

Prenticoat flicked his wand towards one of the heavy weights on the wall so that they would hurtle at Harry from the side. Harry rolled out of the way, firing a stunning spell at Prenticoat, who raised a shield charm at once. They engaged for nearly forty in one of the fiercest and most grueling duels in which Harry had ever participated, and in which Prenticoat would occasionally shout things like, "Think of me as a Death Eater" or "Dumbledore taught you well, Potter" or sometimes even "Can't you do any better, rookie?".

At long last Prenticoat dodged the impediment jinx Harry cast at him by mere inches and hit Harry with a surprise body-bind. Harry toppled backwards, his face stoic, and Prenticoat crossed to stand over him, looking impressed. He triumphantly dictated, "I think that's enough. Well done, Potter. Not many people last even five minutes against me the first time. Unless I'm much mistaken, your thirty-seven minute duel with me is a new record."

He lifted the body-bind curse and reached down to help Harry off the floor. Prenticoat grinned at him and quipped, "Off you get to the next examination, Potter. You'll receive my marks at the end of the testing today."

He point to a door that Harry had not previously seen and said, "That's the way to the theoretical exam. Don't let Athene Calliope tear you apart."

Harry crossed to the next room, and the door opened from the other end.

oOo

Harry scooted inside the next room, and the door snapped shut behind him. He found himself in an empty classroom, not unlike the classrooms at Hogwarts.

"You're late, Mr. Potter."

The voice came from a witch sitting at a desk at the front of the classroom. She had her legs propped up on the desk, showing her striped stockings and blood red heels. She was clad in all black, and she wore a true witch's pointed hat. She had long black hair the flowed like liquid down her back, and when she spoke it was it a sharp, pointed tone.

"I am Athene Calliope, and you will refer to me henceforth as Dr.. Calliope and nothing more or less. I teach Auror theory here at the Auror Academy, which is essentially the craft of being an Auror and the rules and regulations you must adhere to as a member of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

She cackled, and the sound made the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stand up on end. She looked at him maniacally and said, "First question, Potter! What would you do if you had cornered a suspect, and this particular suspect was arm and still prepared to fight?"

Harry thought for a moment, and said hopefully, "Disarm them?"

Dr. Calliope inclined her head and said, "Close, but no cigar. Disarming them would be useful, but immobilizing them minimizes possibility injury to you or your fellow Aurors. Here in the Auror Office, we seek to minimize as much danger on our jobs as possible. While I recognize that you have faced many dangers, the dangers you may face if you are employed by the Office will likely be significantly less prevalent, despite the recent wartime climate.

"Next question: if you were given an assignment where you were assigned to investigate a place where a kidnapping had recently taken place, how would you go about investigating it?"

Harry bit his lip, and stammered, "Well… Maybe you could…"

"It's all right if you don't know," said Dr. Calliope, somewhat impatiently.

Harry looked at her anxiously and said, "I don't know, professor."

"Doctor, Mr. Potter," said Dr. Calliope, almost savagely, "I didn't study at Harvard Law for nothing. Many of your teachers at school did not pursue their education, whether magical or non-magical further than graduating from Hogwarts. I was home-schooled in magic; my parents thought it was better if I was trained privately as a magician and still attended and earned a private education, continuing through the programs at Oxford, Harvard, and the Jefferson Academy of Magic and graduating with highest distinction. I have worked to long and too hard to merely be referred to as 'professor'."

Harry looked away, obviously embarrassed. He said, "I'm sorry, Dr. Calliope."

"It's neither here nor there," she said calmly. "I've brought tougher witches and wizards than you to tears during our first consultation. As for your question, the correct is that you would run certain diagnostic spells on the location of the kidnapping, most of which we would teach you in due course. Then you would look around the location for things that would be out of place. It's how well you can do the things that don't require magic that separates the men from the boys around here, Mr. Potter.

"My last question for you…"

"There's only three?" Harry said, surprised.

Dr. Calliope raised an eyebrow at him and said, almost abrasively, "Interruptions are not tolerated, Mr. Potter., but yes, there's only three. Sometimes it's more, sometimes less; my examinations really depend on each individual student I am charged with judging whether or not they should be admitted into the school.

"Again, my last question you is what you would do if you had to handle a death of a colleague in the field."

Harry looked at her blankly, his face unmoving, took and deep breath and said, "Keep working on the case, Dr. Calliope. Report the death to the department and continue my assignments as normal."

Calliope leaned back in her chair, a look of polite surprise on her face. She spoke softly and slowly, "You may move on to the next room, Mr. Potter. You'll receive my marks at the end of the testing today."

Harry got up to leave, and crossed the room to the door. When he put his hand on the doorknob, Dr. Calliope called, "Wait, Mr. Potter."

He looked over his shoulder at her, and said, "Yes, Dr. Calliope?"

"What are you going to do if you don't become an Auror?"

He closed his eyes, and for the first time ever, he thought about it. He'd always wanted to be an Auror. He never thought he'd have to think about doing anything else, and when he thought about it, when he really thought about it, he realized that he was utterly unable to think of anything else to do with his life. After almost a full minute of silence between them, he opened his eyes, looked down at the intimidatingly inquisitive face of Athene Calliope and asked in response, "Is it still okay if I don't know?"

She nodded at once, and said, "It's a tough choice, Mr. Potter, and you don't necessarily have to make it now."

Harry looked at her once more, and then began to turn the doorknob again. As he was doing so, she spoke again, "I'm sorry; Mr. Potter. I understand that you are in a difficult position. If there's anything I can do, please let me know."

"Thank you, Dr. Calliope."

And with that, he entered the next room.

oOo

A strange sight greeted Harry's eyes in this next room. It was small, but not too small, and in had charmed windows all around it that looked over a flowery meadow. The yellow tile of the floor was illuminated softly by a number of stained glass lanterns hung from the ceiling, and there were a few comfortable looking chairs and couches scattered in different positions around the room. Seated in one of these chairs was a woman, and she was one of the most beautiful women Harry had ever seen.

She was clad in all an all-white trenchcoat, which fell past her knees. She wore silvery glasses, and had long blonde ringlets that fell to her waist. Her skin has porcelain, and her eyes were a light, innocent blue. Overall she had the appearance of a large moth.

She stood up and crossed the room to great him and said in a lofty and deliberate voice, "Mr. Potter. A pleasure it is to finally meet you. I am Martha Meeker, and you may call me whatever you wish."

Harry nodded, and said, "So, Martha is okay, then?"

"Certainly!" She squeaked. "What would you like me to call you?"

He said, "Harry. I'm getting kind of tired of hearing Potter today."

She nodded and simpered, "Would you kindly have a seat?"

He obliged, and she took a seat across from him. Harry had a better look around the office, noticing everything from the perfectly cleaned floor-to-ceiling windows to the picture frames on the desk in one corner, the largest of these featuring a smiling and waving picture of Martha and none other than-

"That's Rita Skeeter!" He blurted out.

Martha chortled, and said, "You're not the first to have noticed that picture. She's my older sister."

Harry gaped at Martha, and looked deeply disturbed. He started looking around the room, and said, "She's not here, is she?"

"Oh, goodness, no!" Martha said, smirking, "Confidentiality has never been Rita's strong suit."

Harry visibly relaxed, and Martha took out her wand, and said, "Accio!"

A roll of parchment and what looked like a Quick-Notes Quill zoomed from the desk and floated alongside her chair. She muttered to it, "You know what to do."

The quill immediately started zooming across the parchment, and motion that made Harry sick and uneasy.

Martha, who seemed to notice everything, inclined her head at his behavior, and then said, "Well, Harry, we are here to examine whether or not you are mentally capable of the psychologically demanding nature of work as an Auror. I am the Auror department's psychologist and my job is to make sure that all Aurors in the field have nerves of steel."

Harry looked at her, his eyebrow raised. He said, "What kind of questions are you going to ask me?"

She said, "I am going to ask you a series of questions that will help me determine your mental stability. My questions will be highly personal and require you to answer in such a way that will reveal both conscious and unconscious secrets you may be holding."

Harry looked surprised, even scared. He said, a bit too quickly, "How am I supposed to trust the sister of Rita Skeeter to keep my secrets?"

"Harry, I am bound by law and charm to keep your secrets secret. Rita and I are opposites in that regard: she's never been able to keep herself out of everyone's business, and I've always been a fantastic confidant. You have nothing to worry about as long as we are together."

"What if I don't want to answer a question?" Harry asked defensively.

"You may opt out of the examination at any time, but you will be taken out of consideration for employment with the department."

Harry looked down, and thought about it all. On one hand, reveal everything: the Horcruxes, his sacrifice, just how much the deaths of his friends and foes had affected him, everything; or reveal nothing and be dismissed from becoming an Auror totally.

Martha, who seemed omniscient as ever, leaned forwards and said serenely, "Look, Harry, whether you tell me about what happened over the last year and at Hogwarts a few nights ago is irrelevant: in a few weeks, the Wizengamot will convene and the will call you as a witness to determine the sentences of the remaining Death Eaters. They will require you to take Veritaserum, and they will hear everything that happened while you were on the run last year. They will want to know everything before they make their decisions regarding the survivors of the Battle of Hogwarts. They will want to be as thorough as possible."

Harry had not thought about this at all, and he found himself angry at the thought. He sharply said, "How do you know?"

"I am on the Wizengamot," she said simply. "As are Robards, Prenticoat, and Calliope. It was recently decided that we would convene on the first of July to decide the fates of the remaining Death Eaters, after we have reorganized and reconsidered the changes made to the Wizengamot charter during the reign of Lord Voldemort. Voldemort has caused us a lot of inconvenience: he changed and instated many laws that need to be corrected before we moved forward with sentencing the guilty. If we don't change the laws now, we run the risk of doing what Bartemius Crouch did nearly two decades ago."

Harry was taken aback. Clearly Kingsley's leadership at the Ministry had been more calculated than any other previous Minister for a long while.

Martha continued, "Harry, I need to make a decision. Will we be moving forward with the examination?"

Harry looked directly at her, his eyes steely, and said, "Yes."

"Good," she said promptly. "Your words will be taken as magically binding. Is that all right?"

"Yes."

"And mine will be magical bonded and secret as well."

"Thank you."

She took a deep breath and said, "Well, Harry, the first thing I would like to know is what you were doing throughout last year."

Harry said, automatically, "I was in hiding from Voldemort."

"Yes," she said carefully, "But you spoke quite eloquently in the Great Hall. I was there, I heard you. And I want to know about a number of things, really. The first is meaning behind the word Horcrux. What is a Horcrux?"

Harry looked tense, even manic, and the quill was moving fast than ever across the parchment. When he opened his mouth to speak, no words came out.

Martha sighed and said, "Is this one of the secrets you were talking about?"

"Yes," Harry managed.

"Why are you afraid of telling me?"

"Dumbledore told me not to tell anyone."

"Albus Dumbledore is dead, Harry. A dead person can't expect you to keep such a secret."

"He's not dead if people still remember him."

"No, Harry. Dumbledore is dead. And so is Voldemort. His memory lives on, but you can't be expected to hold on to things that have passed," Martha reasoned, a feeling of unease growing inside her.

"They're still here. They'll never really leave me."

The quill quivered to a halt, and Martha looked at it, and then at Harry. She said, choosing her words carefully, "Do you see them?"

"Not usually, but sometimes they tell me things. When Voldemort was alive, he would show me things in my mind. Because I was…" Harry trailed off.

"You were what?" said Martha smoothly.

"Because I was a Horcrux," Harry finished meekly.

Martha leaned back again, and said, "Again, I ask: what is a Horcrux?"

Harry sighed and said, "A Horcrux is an object used to store part of a person's soul, protecting them from death. If the body of the Horcrux's creator is destroyed, the person is still able to survive. By killing people, you can split your soul, and Voldemort many six, well, seven Hocruxes, if you include me. That's why Voldemort didn't die until two days ago, when we destroyed all his Horcruxes. That's what I was doing all last year: going around the country and finding and destroying his Horcruxes."

Martha's eyebrows rose into her blonde ringlets. She cleared her throat, and said, "You were used as a container for a part of Voldemort's soul?"

"Accidentally, when he tried to kill me the night he killed my parents. My mother's love protected me from dying, but I was made into a Horcrux instead."

"So, you had a part of Voldemort's soul attached to yours?" Martha repeated.

"Yes."

"How did you get rid of it?"

Harry took another deep breath and said, "Voldemort attempted to kill me but killed that part of his soul instead. I guess I kind of died, had a long chat with Albus Dumbledore about it and came back to life. He was really confusing about the whole thing."

Martha blinked and said, "I see. And how do you feel now that that part of Voldemort's soul is gone?"

Harry found himself once again thinking about something he hadn't thought about before. He said, "I guess I feel relieved. I never thought about that. And it's also been two days since it was destroyed. I feel kind of, well, incomplete without it."

Martha nodded slowly, and the quill restarted scrawling across the parchment. "I see. You've lived with Voldemort for a long time; how do you think your life will be different with him gone?"

"I hope life will be easier. Less responsibility."

"Are you afraid of life without him?"

"What do you mean?" Harry said, his temper rising.

"I mean to say that because he's been such a big part of your life, are you unsure of what you'll do without him? Does that frighten you?"

Harry bit his lip, and said. "Voldemort killed my parents. He ruined my childhood. He changed who I was and now I'm free. I can do whatever I want now, and that feels good."

Martha smiled and replied, "I'm glad you see freedom in such an exhilarating light. So to summarize, you spent the last year hunting down Voldemort's Horcruxes and destroying them one by one."

"Yes," said Harry curtly.

Martha looked at him again and asked, "How are you coping with the deaths of those around you.?

"I haven't given them much thought."

"Do you plan on grieving for your losses?"

"No," said Harry shortly.

"Harry," said Martha kindly, "It is natural to feel pain for losing your friends."

"Everyone expects me to be strong, Martha," said Harry sadly. "I don't have room for grief."

Martha took a great long breath and replied, "Are you afraid of rejection?"

"No," said Harry.

"All right," said Martha, taking a different tact, "Do you fear that you will not be able to become an Auror?"

"Yes," said Harry at once.

"Can I reason something, then?"

"Will you do it even if I say no?" said Harry exasperatedly.

"Yes," said Martha gracefully, and she continued, "I would say that because you fear being unable to begin or complete Auror training that you do fear rejection."

"I suppose," Harry grumbled.

"What will you do if you are not allowed to become an Auror?"

For the second time that day, Harry replied, "I don't know."

"Does that scare you?"

Very quietly, Harry murmured, "Yes."

"Why?"

Suddenly, Harry became very agitated, and he forcefully said, "Because that's what everyone expects me to do! Everyone wants me to be an Auror, marry Ginny Weasley, and live a normal life! I can't imagine doing anything else, and I've never had to. I've never thought of doing anything else but this, and I don't want to be told I can't. I've just spent the last year fighting and I don't want that to meaning nothing. I've only ever wanted to do this. I want to be an Auror."

And with that, Harry dropped his head and went silent. Martha didn't say anything and the quill became silent again, and the words seemed to echo around them as their meaning crashed down on both the patient and the psychologist. When Harry looked back up at Martha, she saw that his eyes were read and that tears were flowing freely down the sides of his face.

Martha said, "Have you ever considered living without people's expectations of you?"

Harry said, "Not until now."

Martha looked at the quill, which was hovering expectantly at her side. She gave it a nod and said to Harry, "I believe that this will conclude our meeting, Harry. Thank you for sharing your thoughts and feelings with me. You will receive the results of this examination in about two hours, after I have met with the other examiners."

Harry continued to cry silently throughout her declaration, and she said, "Would you like a tissue?"

He gulped and nodded. Martha levitated a tissue box on her desk over to him, and he cleaned his face, his visage becoming stonier after each wipe. When he finished wiping his face, he stood and said, "Thank you for your time."

"You're welcome, Harry. Please let me know if there's anything I can do."

oOo

About an hour later, Harry and Ron were waiting in a room for their results.

Ron said. "How'd you do?"

Harry recounted his experience with Prenticoat and Calliope, but stopped when he got to Martha. He found that he didn't want to talk to anyone, let alone Ron, about what had happened in there, so he said that he and Martha had just talked about what happened over the last year and how he was a stronger person because of it.

When he was done with his story, Ron said, "You did better than me. Prenticoat said I was above average: 16 minutes was pretty good, I'd say, but definitely not your 37. Calliope was a right bitch, but said at least I had some common sense. Meeker's okay though; she really helped me with Fred and stuff and way to help with that."

At this point, the door clicked open and Neville entered the room, followed by Kingsley. After greeting each other warmly, both Harry and Ron talked about how they did, with Kingsley nodding his approval at each juncture. When Harry told them about his meeting with Martha, however, Kingsley looked at him with concern, and Harry knew the Kingsley knew he was lying. He didn't press Harry for the truth though, for which Harry was grateful.

"Well, I did okay with Prenticoat. He said 9 minutes was really average. And I did really well with Calliope. She said I had really good understanding of what it means to be an Auror. Martha and I just talked about how much of an effect my… parents have had on me," Neville said.

"What happens now?" said Ron, more to Kingsley than anyone else.

Kingsley cleared his throat and said, "Your examiners and Robards are meeting to discuss your results. We should know shortly."

oOo

Gawain Robards, Evan Prenticoat, Athene Calliope, and Martha Meeker sat around a small square table with the three files of the new recruits between them.

Robards spoke first and said, "Let's get started. First applicant is Ronald Weasley."

"Oh, Gawain, you bloody well know that they're not really applicants. You demanded that they join because of their role in that damn war and so they can help us clean up," Calliope said brusquely.

"I agree, Gawain. At least called them what they are," said Meeker.

"Fine: the new recruits," he said, his nostrils flaring. "Ronald Weasley: how did he do, Evan?"

"Not too shabby," said Prenticoat, "Sixteen minutes with me is certainly worthy of the department standard."

"I don't think so, Evan," said Calliope, "He's teachable, but he's damn clueless on any Auror theory."

"What say you, Martha?" said Robards.

"Yes," said Martha simply. "He's strong and prepared to overcome any obstacle. He made a few mistakes during the war, but he learned from them, and will continue to grow."

"That settles it," said Robards, "Ronald Weasley will be admitted for training as an Auror."

He set the file for Ron aside, and picked up another. He said, "Neville Longbottom. Thoughts?"

Prenticoat shifted and said, "Not terrible, but certainly not fantastic. He's not a fighter, Gawain."

"On my end, he was superb. Would be a fantastic addition to the department," said Calliope.

They turn to Meeker, who paused and then said, "I'm hesitant to give him a yes. I think if he were put under the conditions that his parents were, he would also crease."

"If anyone was put under the Cruciatus Curse for nine hours, anyone would break, Meeker," reasoned Calliope. "Bellatrix Lestrange was likely the most unforgiving obstacle this Auror Department has ever seen. At least Voldemort had the decency to kill."

"That's enough, Athene," said Evan Prenticoat. Calliope looked like she was going to say something else, but stopped herself.

Meeker continued, "He expressed to me that he didn't want to be an Auror, and that he was more inclined to return to Hogwarts to teach. Pomona Sprout has a very high opinion of him, after all."

"If his heart isn't in it, then there's no point in training him," said Robards slowly, and he turned to Prenticoat, "And he wasn't as strong as standard, Evan?"

"Nope," said Prenticoat.

"I'm sorry, Athene," said Gawain. Calliope looked unperturbed. "Neville Longbottom will not be admitted as an Auror."

He set Neville's file aside in a different pile than Ron's. Then he smiled, and picked up the last file and said, "So… Harry Potter. The one we've all been waiting for. Evan?"

Prenticoat said, "At thirty-seven minutes, he's the record holder. A natural fighter, Gawain."

"I agree. He has great instincts, and should be ready to go in no time," said Calliope.

They turned to Meeker, who did not speak for a long time. After several minutes of watching her silently read over her notes, Robards asked, "What'll it be, Martha?"

Martha looked up at each of her peers individually, and then started directly at Robards and said in one fell stroke, "Absolutely not."

Prenticoat and Calliope reacted at once, and in unison said, "Why?!"

Robards eyed Meeker carefully and said, "Should I place the confidentiality wards that are in your office up?"

"I suggest that you do, if you want to know why." said Martha. She stood up, and she and Robards walked around the room, muttering complex incantations around each door and the whole perimeter. They sat back down, and Meeker opened her notes.

She read aloud, "_'Patient shows signs of distancing himself from everything in his life. He is erratic, emotional, independent, and inconsistent. Evidence of hallucinations, delusions, and paranoia is clear. Most reasonable diagnoses could include borderline personality disorder, bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, attention__deficit hyperactivity disorder, and post-traumatic stress disorder. More time for observation highly recommended for maintaining mental and emotional wellbeing.'_"

The other three examiners sat in silence for a few moments, and she said, "I cannot permit Harry Potter to become an Auror. He is too unstable and is too much of a liability to the department."

Robards cleared his throat and said, "You're pulling a trump card on us?"

"Gawain," she said concretely, "it is not in Harry Potter's best interest to become an Auror. I cannot allow him to continue to be detrimental to his mental state. He is extremely vulnerable."

"Should we put in a request at St Mungo's to have him institutionalized?" said Calliope.

"No," said Meeker. "The press would have a field day, and it will disrupt him further. I am going to suggest to him in a letter that he continues to seek therapy."

"Martha," said Robards, "Are you sure?"

"Yes," said Martha.

"But…"

"But what, Evan?" said Martha coolly. "Though I am sure that it would look best for the Auror department to admit him, it is my responsibility to make sure that he is mentally prepared, and, after everything he's been through, I can't blame him for not being ready at this point. You all know I strongly opposed sending him that letter a mere two days after his defeat of Lord Voldemort, and this is precisely the problem. There are regulations and protocols, and we cannot allow those who have been so substantially damaged by the war, let alone that they haven't even graduated from Hogwarts, into the Auror Department. Utterly irresponsible, Robards. Completely ludicrous."

Robards, Calliope, and Prenticoat stared at her disappointedly. Robards sat back, and said, "Harry Potter will not be accepted to the Auror Academy."

oOo

Harry walked into Robards office a short while later to find Robards sitting behind his desk, Prenticoat, Calliope, and Meeker sitting along the far wall, Kingsley sitting in one of the two chairs opposite the desk. Robards said, "Please have a seat, Mr. Potter."

Harry sat and Robards said, "Mr. Potter, it is my regret to inform you that you will not be accepted into the Auror Academy."

Harry hung his head and nodded. He got up, and left the room. He shuffled along the hallways of the Auror offices until he reached the lifts with the golden grills. He got into one of the lifts, and the grill was only just closing when Kingsley Shacklebolt and Martha Meeker came running into view. They were shouting at him, though it was as though they were shouting through water to Harry. Harry's lift began to ascend, and Kingsley and Martha caught the next lift to come.

In the lift, Harry turned to the corner and rested his head against the wall. He had failed and the one thing that he'd always thought would be his future. What was he supposed to do now?

The lift clunked to halt at the atrium before Harry knew if, and he turned around to be greeted by more voices shouting his name and bright lights flashing at him. He attempted to close the golden grills as they began to open, but to no avail as he was thrust out into the horde of press which was so desperately trying to get any story about him.

He was broken, torn apart, and felt more completely alone than he ever had as Rita Skeeter grabbed his arm with a vicegrip and cooed, "Let's hear it, Harry! Are you excited to be an Auror?"

And then, quite a few things happened at once. Kingsley and Martha appeared at Harry's side, jostling the crowd. At the sight of Martha, Rita immediately let go of Harry and gave her sister a look that could kill. The presence of Kingsley seemed to scare quite a few reporters away and nearly two thirds for the crowd disapparated at once. When the reporters disapparated, Ron and Neville were revealed trying to fight through the crowd, and when they reached Harry, they surrounded him and began pushing him back towards one of the lifts.

When they were inside the lift and plummeting into the earth, Ron turned to Harry and said, "What the fuck, mate? Didn't you think about the fact that the press haven't seen you in months and will do anything they can to get an interview out of you?"

"No," said Harry truthfully.

Kingsley said, "We need to find a way to get you out of the Ministry safely. My office is an apparition point. I'm taking you there now."

"Fine," said Harry.

The got off on Level One was quickly walked towards Kingley's new office. While walking towards his office, Martha said to Harry, "I know you're upset about the decision, but I need you to stay safe. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded.

"I want to set up regular appointments," said Martha.

Harry said, "I'll think about it."

Soon they were in Kingsley's office, and Kingsley said, "Where are you planning on going, Harry?"

"I don't know," said Harry.

"The Burrow!" Ron said at once. "There's always room for you there."

"No," said Harry, not wanting to face the Weasleys' disappointments and Ginny's affections. Not now, anyway.

"What?" said Ron, who looked shocked, and turned to Kingsley, and then to Meeker. Meeker nodded at Kingsley.

"Harry has been rejected by the Auror Academy."

"WHAT?" shouted Ron in outrage. "How? Why?"

"We can't legally tell you, Ron," said Meeker.

Ron continued to argue loudly with the Minister of Magic and the Auror Psychologist. Neville who had remained silent for the whole time, leaned over to Harry and whispered, "I didn't get accepted either, Harry."

Harry looked at him. Neville looked quite sad, but not heartbroken. Neville continued, "Look, I know we're not the best of friends, but I know Gran wouldn't mind you staying at our place."

Harry said, "What's it like?"

Neville said, "Quiet."

Harry nodded and said, "I could use some quiet."

"Okay," said Neville. Neville went up to Kingsley and whispered something in his ear. Kingsley nodded vigorously and went over to the mantle and offered a silvery bag to both Harry and Neville, who each took at decent amount of Floo powder.

Ron spun around and shouted, "Wait! Harry!"

Kingsley stood in between Ron and the two other wizards and said, "Harry has decided to stay with Neville for a while, Ron. Please respect that."

Ron continued to protest, but Kingsley blocked him off. Neville turned to Harry and said, "It's called 'The House on the Cliffs'."

And with that, they departed in turn, the sound of Ron's protests replaced by the whooshing of the Floo.

oOo

The first thing Harry saw was white, and the first thing he smelled was the salt of the sea. Neville's grandmother bustled into the room and said, "Harry Potter! This is a surprise."

Neville said, "Gran, Harry needs a place to stay, and I offered…"

"Of course you did, Nev," she said gruffly. She turned to Harry and said, "You can stay as long as you like, Mr. Potter. This is can be your home as long as you need it to be."

* * *

Author's Note: Wow, this is a long chapter. In earlier drafts, Chapter 2 and Chapter 3 were one chapter, but I found that it was exhausting to read both in tandem, so I chose to split them.

The next update will be on Wednesday. I bet you're all looking forward to hearing from the Malfoys.

- Theo Green


	4. Chapter 4: Plans for the Summer

Chapter 4: Plans for the Summer

It was morning at Malfoy Manor, four days following the Battle of Hogwarts. The grounds, which were ever properly manicured by the small army of house-elves enslaved by the place, were silent, but that was not something that could be said for the inhabitants of the house itself.

If there was one thing that was certain, it was Draco Malfoy did not like waking up in a sleeping bag on the floor of his bare, unfurnished room, especially when the only reason he woke up so early was the mouse that had just scampered across his chest.

A few hours after the Battle of Hogwarts, the Ministry of Magic had conducted a colossal raid of Malfoy Manor, and they took everything that they even remotely thought was a dark object, which included nearly all of the furniture. Lucius and Narcissa were assured that the Ministry would have an entire team scour the objects and have the tested for dark magic and their belongings would be returned, but they knew better. Many of the things in their house belonged in the world's best museums, and the Malfoys knew that they wouldn't get their furniture back under any circumstances. It was only lucky that they had shipped a lot of their more valuable items and most of their library overseas to their summer home in the Hamptons in America.

To an injury to insult, all three Malfoys were placed under strictly enforced house arrest until July 1st, the date that was slated to begin the Death Eater Trials. This was both a good and a bad thing: it would give time for Lucius's in-house counsel to develop a case for them against the Wizengamot and it gave Narcissa time to refurnish the house and oversee the grounds, but it was certainly a blot on the Malfoys' otherwise respectable international reputation.

Draco, however, was not accustomed to life imprisoned in an empty house. Lucius had spent his fair share of time is Azkaban, and Narcissa had spent her fair share of time away from Lucius, so neither was as flustered and insulted as their son. The boy was not used to waking up on anything but a comfortable four-poster at Hogwarts or his California King at home.

Draco stood up and brushed himself off. Having been unable to purchase a wand before he was placed under house arrest, he could not perform any of the most basic spells that would make him look perfectly presentable, so he resigned himself to finding some breakfast and hopefully his mother.

Draco staggered through the halls. Malfoy Manor, though it had always been his one and only ultimate refuge, not only felt bare and lifeless having been stripped by the Ministry, but also felt haunted by Voldemort's many war crimes. He couldn't help but look over his shoulder constantly, only to find himself alone. Having Voldemort live in one's house can make one quite paranoid.

Draco found his mother in the dining room. The dining room table and chairs were on of the few object that had not be taken, mostly because they were least valuable of all the possessions of the Malfoys. Strewn across the dining room table were numerous catalogues from America, France, and Asia for fine furniture.

Narcissa seemed to be making the best of their predicament. She'd always wanted a chance to redo the Malfoy Manor décor as it was, but Lucius was so sentimental about all the history in the house. Sentiment hardly stopped the Ministry from removing his grandfather's suits of armor, though, and Narcissa was happy to see a silver lining there.

In the mornings, Narcissa liked to drink coffee and read the newspaper, though she hadn't had an opportunity to do so in a long while. She looked up from her coffee and saw Draco standing idle on the threshold to the room and warmly said, "Draco, why don't you come and have a seat? Help me pick out a few lounges and the styling of your bed."

Draco crossed into the room and took a seat to her left.

"Coffee, dear?" Narcissa offered.

"Yes, mother, but I want it my way," said Draco. He called out, "Difty!"

A small crack echoed through the dining room, and an especially thin house-elf appeared in front of him. It squeaked, "Would Master Draco like his usual double espresso?"

"Yes, Difty, ten minutes ago," disdained Draco.

"Difty is sorry, Master Draco. Difty will have it promptly, sir," issued the elf, vanishing at once.

Narcissa eyed Draco solemnly, "I wish you would abuse the elves, Draco. Lucius always set a bad example for you in that regard."

"Merely that regard, Mother?"

"In many regards, Draco. Most of which I believe he regrets," she remarked. She closed her paper, taking one short glance at the headline _HARRY POTTER REJECTED FROM AUROR ACADEMY_, and pulling one of the many catalogues towards her. Draco looked pointed at the Prophet and asked, "Would you mind if I read that?"

"You? Read the paper?" She scoffed, though she handed him the paper. "What kind of world do we live in?"

"Very funny, mother," Draco said stingily, as his eyes scanned the article. "I just want to see what Potter's done this time."

"Nothing, dear," she replied. "He's done nothing. The papers are just in a right state. No one knows why he wasn't accepted as an Auror."

"So it seems," Draco grumbled. He finished reading, and set the paper down between them and sighed, "After all the Ministry did to try and get them on their side during the war, and now they reject him? They just make one mistake after the other, don't they?"

"I suppose," said Narcissa coolly. "They do have a country to rebuild, after all."

"Which is our fault," supplied Draco softly,

"No, Draco," said Narcissa crossly. "It's no one's fault but the Dark Lord's. He's the one who started all of this mayhem and with him it ended. I can only wish that the Wizengamot will see that."

They sat in silence for a few moments, in the rising sun and looking at catalogues together.

"Where is Father?"

"In his study, Draco. Not to be bothered. He's expecting a meeting with William today."

William Flemish was one of the toughest lawyers in wizarding Britain, by far, and for a very pretty penny had agreed to take the Malfoy's case to the Wizengamot. He was sly and brutal and Draco had never liked seeing him at any social gathering.

"When is Phlegm coming?"

"Draco, you know your father hates it when you call him that," scolded Narcissa. "He'll be here around ten. I suggest you go to the fountain and visit with the peacocks while he's here, and hopefully he and your father will make progress on the case."

Draco squinted in disproval, but didn't argue. There was something about his mother that calmed him more than anything in the world, and Narcissa knew it. Even Harry Potter couldn't cause a scene with Narcissa present.

Difty reappeared with his espresso moments later, and Draco began drinking it calmly. Truth be told, he was never really awake without it. He and his mother sat in silence for a very long time browsing through tomes of stylish tables and lamps. Every once in a while, Narcissa would pick up a self-inking eagle feather quill and circle an item for later consideration.

After nearly ten minutes Narcissa casually admitted, "I saved Harry Potter's life in the Forbidden Forest a few days ago."

Draco choked on his last remaining sip of espresso, descending into a fit of retching. He looked up with watery eyes and said, "What?"

"I saved Harry Potter's life in the Forbidden Forest a few days ago," Narcissa repeated. "He had been hit by the Dark Lord's killing curse, and I was asked to make sure he was dead. He was not, but I told the Dark Lord otherwise."

"Why?" said Draco, still astonished.

"Potter was my ticket back into the castle to find you and keep you safe," Narcissa said. "And it was clearly that the Dark Lord was losing his powers, and that we were on the wrong side."

Draco looked at his mother incredulously and said, "When did it occur to you that we were on the wrong side?"

"The moment I found out that you had been assigned the murder of Albus Dumbledore," Narcissa quipped. "Though I never shared it with you or Lucius, I was never in favor of the Dark Lord's will. I was against his residence in this house. I was unable to fight, lest we be killed in his fury, but I never, ever wanted any part of a world that was his."

"Narcissa," said a voice near the dining room door. "Were you planning on submitting that as testimony?"

Neither Draco nor Narcissa had noticed Lucius enter the room. He looked tired, but at least groomed; there were backs under his eyes and a permanent frown etched onto his face, but he still stood with the pride that was evident in the entire Malfoy family.

"Lucius!" said Narcissa graciously. "Out and about at last. Would you like some coffee?"

"I already had Dofty bring me some this morning. I'm quite serious, Narcissa," he continued, "You must write that down so that William can use it for our defense."

"I will, Lucius," said Narcissa. "Don't 'Narcissa' me."

Lucius brushed past Narcissa and sat on her right, across from Draco. He whispered, "Is it true, then? What you said about saving the Potter boy?"

"Yes, Lucius. A thousand times, yes."

"Excellent," said Lucius. He regarded Draco, and said, "Draco?"

"Yes, Father?"

Lucius took a deep breath, "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?" replied Draco, glancing at his mother clandestinely. "What kind of world do we live in?"

Narcissa chuckled and replied, only somewhat sternly, "Listen to what you father has to say."

"Thank you, love," said Lucius, before Draco could interrupt again. "I'm sorry, Draco, for my actions over the past few years. I never meant for you to be exposed to the Dark Lord so young. While it was my expectation that you would join him when you were ready, I never dreamed that you would have to undergo the stress that you had undergone as punishment for my actions. I'm sorry that your hand was forced to do so much, and that I could do so little to protect you."

"You could have done more," muttered Draco.

"He would have been killed," said Narcissa idly. "We would all have been killed."

"We were all walking the thin line between loyalty and death with the Dark Lord. It is my hope," Lucius paused, cleared his throat, "that the Wizengamot will see that our actions over the past year were under duress."

"Fat chance," said Draco thickly. "After the way they stole the whole of the Manor's furnishings, I don't think we'll be getting any favors from the Ministry of Magic."

Lucius and Narcissa exchanged a dark look.

"There are many secrets that the Dark Lord confided in only a few," said Lucius.

"And there are many secrets I know to which only Bellatrix was privy," said Narcissa ominously. "She never shared any details, but she was always boastful."

"If the Ministry is unprepared to consider that we were under duress," said Lucius slyly, "I assume they would be keen to hear our information."

Draco looked from his father to his other and back again. Perhaps they would get out of this mess relatively unscathed after all.

oOo

Harry found Neville's house quite nice over the first few days he was there. It was perfect, actually; the last place any reporter would ever look to find him was certainly the south coast of England.

Neville's grandmother lived just a few kilometers west of the Muggle town of Dover, which sat of the edge of a series of cliffs in which the outer face was a pure white. Augusta Longbottom took no time in telling him that the place was often referred to as the white cliffs of Dover, and that it was historically significant because it was where every Muggle war's first invasion of Britain had happened. She also told him solidly that they would be highly secluded by the series of Muggle-repellant charms and protective enchantments. The House on the Cliffs was one of the very few houses in Britain that was Unplottable, and hardly anyone would expect Harry to go stay with the Longbottoms', after all.

The place was beautiful, though. While the house itself looked more like a mismatched antique shop than anything, the landscape outside in the yard and beyond was breathtaking. Neville had hastened to show Harry his garden, which showcased a number of exotic plants, including the Mimbulus Mimbletonia that Neville had received during their fifth year at Hogwarts. Beyond the garden was a magnificent view of the sea, which reminded him of Shell Cottage, which only made him miss the Weasleys more, a feeling that was replaced momentarily by his imagining their disappointment in him, which only caused more pain.

The first night Harry had stayed at the House on the Cliffs had been rough. He couldn't sleep; every time his eyes drooped and he dozed off, he would be plagued by the combination of the high, cold laughter of Voldemort and the flashes and shouts of the Battle of Hogwarts. He stayed awake, only to wallow in his rejection from the Auror office and the privacy he had to take from the posse of reporters who would monitor his every move if he could.

He chose to take a walk through Neville's garden at towards the cliff. The walk was far more peaceful than anything he had done in a very, very long time, which was unnerving and made Harry uneasy, but he sundered on. The moonlight bathed Harry in light and illuminated his path; it also remind Harry of Lupin, the boggart, and Severus Snape being stuffed into Augusta Longbottom's ridiculous daytime outfit… but that felt like a lifetime ago, when Hogwarts welcomed him.

When he reached the edge of the cliff, he was a little surprised by just how far down it was to the beach below. He was tempted to dive off the cliff to his death, but it seemed silly to do so; after surviving Voldemort as many times as he did, Harry didn't take much to the idea of committing suicide. Instead, he contented himself to sitting near the edge of the cliff, lying down on the soft grass, and looking up into the stars.

oOo

He awoke hours later to a loud thump immediately bedside him. He sat up and saw an owl lying on its back, a letter tied to its leg. It was Errol, the old Weasley owl. Harry detached the letter, opened it, and read:

_Dear Harry,_

_We know about the Auror Department's decision to not allow you to begin training as an Auror, and I just want you to know that their decision changes nothing about the way we feel about you. I speak for our entire family when I say that you are a gifted, wonderful, and compassionate person and that you will always have been and always will be a member of the Weasley family, and while I respect your decision to stay with Neville and Augusta, I just want you to know how much we love and care about you, no matter where life takes you._

_I also want to ask that you come and visit with Arthur and me to talk about your options as a career from this point. It doesn't have to be now, it doesn't even have to be this week, but I think you need some direction in your life._

_The whole family sends their regards and hopes that you are safe._

_Love,_

_Molly Weasley_

Harry finished reading the letter, a small weight lifted off his chest. They didn't care about what the Auror Department thought of him after all. Harry read the letter again, and a third time for good measure, before he stood up and started to look at the vaguely stirring owl on the ground. He picked up the creature, and started heading back towards the House on the Cliffs.

He was almost to the House when he saw Neville run out the back, shouting his name. He said, "I'm right here, Neville."

"Oh, goodness, Harry," panted Neville. "You weren't in bed when Gran came up to check on you, and you weren't anywhere in the house. We thought you'd just left!"

"I couldn't sleep," said Harry.

"Oh," Neville said. "I had a hard time sleeping too."

"So I went for a walk, down to the cliffs," said Harry.

Neville looked a litter mortified, and he said, "You did?"

"Yeah, why?"

Neville looked at him suspiciously and said, "Where did you sleep?"

"About three meters from the edge," said Harry, shrugging.

Neville didn't say anything else, but Harry knew that sleeping on the ground three meters from the edge of the white cliffs of Dover was not what Neville though Martha Meeker meant by 'staying safe'. Instead, he looked at the feeble owl nestled in Harry's arms, but before he could ask, Harry said quickly, "This is Errol, the Weasleys' owl. He collapsed after delivering me a letter from the Weasleys."

He gave the letter to Neville, and Neville read through it once. His face broke into a half grin and he said, "I knew they'd say that. They'd never disown you for not being able to do something."

"Why do you think I wasn't able to do the Auror Academy? They didn't give me a reason."

"They didn't?" Neville said, surprised. "They told me exactly why I could join. That Prenticoat man didn't think I was a natural fighter…"

"You're not," Harry said flatly.

"What makes you say that?" Neville said, in a sharper voice than Harry had ever heard him speak in.

"You may have worked hard in the D.A, but that was because you wanted to make your parents proud. And you protected the kids at Hogwarts from the Death Eaters, but you did that because it was the right thing to do. But as long as I've known you, Neville, you've never wanted to fight. You've only wanted to do the thing that's best."

Harry's words seemed to take a while to fully percolate through Neville's mind. Neville sighed, and said, "I suppose you're right. And Martha said that I couldn't be an Auror because of my parents. She feels that I would be a liability because of… well… what happened to them."

Harry stood there for a little while as the owl in his arms began to fully awaken. He whispered, "I'm sorry."

"It's not you who should be sorry."

Neville's grandmother was standing on the back porch, donning her usual day attire, except her hat did not hold a stuffed vulture, but a number of old, dried sunflowers. She said sternly, "I don't want to hear that you are sorry for what happened to my son and his wife again, Harry Potter. It is what happened to them that shaped him," and she pointed at Neville, "into the man that he has become.

"It's unfortunate that the Aurors don't see you as the talented young wizards that you are. They're too preoccupied with the things that will weaken you as agents to see your strengths and how much they could benefit from you. It's their loss, really."

She walked over to her grandson and Harry, who was now nursing Errol. She looked at the owl and said, "That bird needs food, water, and rest. The Weasleys should consider buying a new owl; this one's been through the mill, and he deserves a good old retirement."

She beckoned them both inside the house, and she took Errol and placed him on one of the trees in the yard, where he hooted his mild appreciation for her.

After she had fed and watered the owl, she came inside and said, "Sit, Potter. And you too, Neville."

They sat.

"How do you like your tea, Potter?"

Harry cleared his throat and said, "With lemon and sugar."

She made a show of preparing his tea, which she levitated over to him. Next she did Neville's and it was clear that she knew the way Neville liked it. She levitated it over to him next, and received a muttered thank you. Then she made a cup for herself and took one of the remaining seats at the table.

"Well, Potter," she said briskly, "I'm fine with you staying here as long as you can help with some general maintenance. I'm getting old, and you and Neville are both adults now, and, like Errol, I've deserved my retirement for quite some time."

She glanced at Neville, who was drinking his tea nonchalantly.

"I'm fine with a little work, Mrs. Longbottom…"

"And there will be no Mrs. Longbottom, Potter," she stated. "It's Augusta."

"Then it's Harry," said Harry simply.

"Fine," said Augusta. "I will make a list of things I need to be done each morning, and you will have them done by the end of the day: I don't care when you do them, just as long as they are finished. Understand?"

"Yes," said Harry.

"I'll start that tomorrow," added Augusta. She continued, "And I think you should get an owl, Harry. That way you can send post to people without having to rely on animals like that poor bird outside."

"Gran," Neville piped up, "I don't think going to Diagon Alley would be a good idea for Harry at the moment. The press are following his every move."

"I see," she said, surveying him. Harry had gone rather quiet again. As though no behavior was out of the ordinary, she said, "Perhaps Neville or another of your friends would be will to go on your behalf."

"I'd go, but I was one of the last people you were seen with," said Neville idly.

"I'll talk to Ron and Hermione about it," said Harry flatly.

"The same Ron and Hermione who wandered the country with you all last year, and who haven't been out of your sight in months?" Neville's grandmother supplied.

"Maybe Luna?" said Neville. "She's always loved trips to Diagon Alley."

"Maybe," said Harry.

They sat in silence for a few moments, and then Neville's grandmother stood up and said, "Well, boys, my program is about to start. I will see you in a few hours."

She left the room, humming a tune to herself of her own invention. Harry turned to Neville and said, "Her program?"

"Yeah, her radio program," he said with a smirk. "She loves listening to those dramatic readings of the Tales of Beedle the Bard. It's supposed to be for little kids, but she's thinks it's just charming."

"Okay," said Harry.

Neville sipped his tea, and then said, "Didn't Martha recommend that you set up regular sessions with her?"

This was one of the things that Harry had only vaguely thought about since yesterday. The way Martha Meeker had interrogated him regarding his mental state was still fresh in his mind and it caused his temper to bubble to the surface again. Through gritted teeth, he said, "I said I'd think about it."

Neville gave him a concerned look, set down his tea, and said, "Harry, if Martha suspects that something's wrong…"

"I don't want there to be anything wrong with me," growled Harry.

Neville fell silent. He sipped his tea again, clearly trying not to look too concerned for his friend, before he said, "I think you should at least respond to Mrs. Weasley, though. She'd want to hear from you."

Harry felt his anger start to ebb away at the mention of Molly Weasley. No matter what he tried, he couldn't stay mad at her, especially after all that she had done for him. He sighed, and said, "I suppose I should."

Neville looked a bit more appeased by him, and said, "I'll run and get you some parchment."

Neville departed, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts.

If the Weasleys weren't disappointed in him, what could they think of him now? Molly said that they would be happy whatever he decided to do in life, didn't she? Did they really just want him to be happy? That couldn't be, after all. Happiness wasn't something that Harry had been accustomed to having for an extended period of time, given the amount of danger that he was prone to experiencing, so how could they expect him to be happy after everything that had happened?

_Come to think of it_, Harry mused. _I don't even know what happiness is anymore_.

That would explain why it was so hard to cast a Patronus anymore. All the fleeting moments of happiness that happened over the last year were, just that: fleeting. They were moments of small success, such as finding a Horcrux or way to destroy one, which still didn't compare to finding the rest of them, which he reminded himself, he'd only done a few days ago.

The things that made Harry content seemed ages away, like they were never to return. He was reminded momentarily of Quidditch, but he'd lost the Firebolt, the only remaining relic of Sirius he had left, during the war. He was reminded of Hogwarts feasts and the magnificent treacle tart, but Hogwarts' magic had been lost on him after the battle. He was reminded of Ginny, and…

Ginny.

How thick was he?

But even with Ginny, there had always been an expectation of greatness. She'd always wanted him to be successful and brilliant at whatever he did, and the thought that he would be able to please her scared him more than anything.

Was he a coward? Was he going to run away from everything that scared him from now on because he simply didn't know how to react to all the people he once knew so well? Surely not.

Had the war really changed him that much?

Shortly, Neville returned with a roll of parchment and a quill, which he gave to Harry. Harry, who was still drowning in his own thoughts, took the parchment and quill absentmindedly as he thought for a very long while on exactly what he was going to write.

After what felt like several days of wallowing in thought, he wrote:

_Dear Mrs. Weasley,_

_Thank you for your concern. I hope that you're all right_

_Harry_

Harry rolled up the parchment, and offered it to Neville. He asked, "Do you have an owl I could use?"

"Yeah, I'll send Otto out now," said Neville.

"Otto?" asked Harry blankly.

"Yeah, Otto," replied Neville. "He's Gran's owl, but she won't mind you borrowing him. Otto's short for Othello. Gran's always had a thing for Shakespeare."

And he left the room with Harry's reply to the Weasleys, leaving Harry lost in his thoughts again.

* * *

Here's to another chapter! I hope you guys enjoyed the Malfoys' banter. You'll hear more from them soon.

Next update will be on Sunday, and it includes one of my favorite scenes to write so far.

Still looking for a more regular beta reader for this story, so message me if you're interested at all.

Thanks for reading!

-TG


	5. Chapter 5: Letters and Liaisons

Chapter 5: Letters and Liaisons

Over the next few days, Harry became accustomed to life at the House on the Cliffs. While he spent sleepless nights wandering the edge of the cliffs, his days were kept busy by Neville and his grandmother.

Augusta Longbottom was surprisingly easy to live with, though after living with the Dursleys, Harry rather thought that anything else would be a cakewalk. The chores he was set were not challenging; they were merely so that Augusta could have some peace and quiet and still have a clean house.

In fact, Harry found her fascinating. Having grown up in a Muggle house, regardless of how conservative that household was, Harry found it a surprise that Augusta thoroughly enjoying reading Muggle literature. She sat in her library, reading anything from Tolkien's "The Hobbit" to Lewis' "The Screwtape Letters". She told him, "Wizarding literature? Ha! There's not been a good wizarding book written since the Tales of Beedle the Bard, child, and that was nearly four centuries ago! In order to write great, imaginative literature, I think you must not be magic, and you must imagine what it must be like to have magic in the first place."

Having never been allowed to read outside what was required for primary school while he was living with the Dursleys, Augusta provided Harry with a long list of books to read and enjoy. Harry found that he liked a lot of what she suggested, and after reading such great books as Wilde's "A Picture of Dorian Gray", Hemingway's "The Old Man and the Sea", and Carroll's "Through the Looking Glass", Harry learned of a love of reading that he never knew he had.

It also came as a surprise to learn that Augusta Longbottom was a religious woman, and she demanded that Harry and Neville accompany her to the little Lutheran church in Dover on Sundays. Harry, who had grown up with the Dursleys, had never been to church, given that the most religious practice of Dudley and Uncle Vernon was the worship of the television set. He found it an intriguing experience, and all the talk of an invisible god who created the world and saves people from dying drew Harry in.

"The Muggles believe in God, and so do I," said Augusta proudly. "I like to think that we all must face trials and tribulations of our own, but we'll always have a place in heaven if we overcome them."

Harry found this deeply moving, and he enjoyed going to church with her and Neville. Neville, having been raised Christian, had no object, and was happy to see Harry enjoying himself there.

Some nights, Neville and Harry would leave the House on the Cliffs and go down to the village, where they would go to pubs and have a drink or two. Though they were not yet eighteen and you had to be eighteen to drink in the Muggle world, Neville told Harry that all they had to do was Confund the bartender, and they wouldn't know the difference.

Here, Neville recounted his summertime adventures over the past few years in Dover. Harry was privately surprised to learn that Neville had dated a couple Muggle girls in the village, and that he'd had more than one sloppily drunken night in a few pubs in town.

After a few drinks in the pub, he and Harry walked back to the House on the Cliffs, and, the alcohol still rattling around in their brains, they talked about the war candidly. Neville fully recounted the year of Hogwarts under the Carrows: how he, Ginny, and Luna would have died in the Forbidden Forest had Lupin not been there at the right time, how Filch had finally got his whipping license and how Neville had the scars to prove it, and how the teachers fought silently but steadily the whole year to remove the Carrows from power.

Harry recounted some of the more gruesome stories from his year previous: how the snake attacked him and Hermione in Godric's Hallow, how Ron abandoned them, and their brief imprisonment in Malfoy Manor. Neville was the only person who he'd talked to freely about these events, and Harry liked it that way. He also told Neville about the Horcruxes, which was a particularly difficult topic to explain, but eventually he though he and Neville were on the same page.

Out of nowhere, Neville said, "Harry, I really think you should talk to Martha Meeker about everything you just told me."

"Why?" asked Harry dully.

"Because I think she'll be able to help you figure out what it all means," said Neville ambiguously.

Harry grunted. He'd never responded to Martha's cryptic request, and although Luna had gone to Diagon Alley on his behalf and purchase him an especially handsome barn owl which she'd named Terence, he still didn't feel inclined to seek professional guidance.

The sixth day after he'd arrived at the House on the Cliffs he was working in the yard with Neville. Augusta opened the back door and called, "Neville, Harry, you have a visitor."

Neville turned to Harry, looking surprised. He said, "We're not expecting anyone."

"Manners, Nev," she said gruffly, and she went back inside. Neville and Harry pulled themselves out of the muddy garden, washed up as quickly as they could, and went inside to meet whoever had made the house call.

When they entered the library, they found a head of bushy brown hair scanning the books in the place with a politely curious look on her face. Hermione turned to them and said, "Oh! I'm sorry, Neville, your grandmother just brought me in here to wait, and I couldn't…"

Neville had pulled her into an enormous bear-hug, and said, "How're you doing, Hermione? How's everyone?"

"Everyone's fine, Neville," she said as he released her. She turned and looked at Harry.

When Harry got a good look at her, he was happy to see that she looked healthier than she had in a long time. She was wearing a simple Muggle outfit, and she seemed to be glowing with content. She opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, Harry said, "What are you doing here?"

She looked taken aback, and she replied, "I'm just here to see how you're doing."

Harry looked down at his feet and said, "I'm fine, Hermione."

"Oh, Harry, don't insult my intelligence," said Hermione briskly. "I know you too well."

Neville was looking from Harry to Hermione as though he were spectating a particularly intense tennis match. He said, "I think I'll leave you two alone to…"

Hermione cut across him, "No, Neville. I want you to stay. You've been with him over the past couple days, and I want your thoughts."

Neville stopped, not about to argue with Hermione. He just, well, knew better.

Hermione turned back to Harry and said, her facing softening, "Do you want to go on a walk with Neville and me?"

Harry looked up at here. How could he say no?

They trundled through the house and departed through the back door, walking towards the cliff's edge. The late afternoon sun made the sea look so inviting, and there was a slight gust which was blowing the long grass sideways.

"It's beautiful here," sighed Hermione, looking out over the horizon. Squinting, she said, "That's the north coast of France, isn't it?"

Harry looked and saw it: a landmass on the horizon opposite them, and realized that he was looking across the English Channel to France. It was like stepping into another world. He muttered, "Must be."

"Always has been," said Neville. "Would you want to Apparate down to the beach and talk our walk there? It'd be private and…"

"Neville," said Hermione sternly. "You had me at 'beach'."

The Apparated down to the base of the cliffs, and clambering over the rocks, not headed in any particular direction, they talked.

Hermione was saying, "Well, I've been staying at the burrow, with Ron's family. They're pretty shaken up, but they've been rather separated, too. Percy, Bill, and Mr. Weasley are helped with the reorganization of the Ministry so that the country can get back on its feet. Molly and George are, well, they're rather torn up about Fred. Well, we all are, but it hit them the hardest. Charlie's helping console them and organize all the stuff for the funeral."

"The funeral?" said Neville softly, watching Harry slide down a rock ahead of them.

"Yes," said Hermione gravely. "They said you and Harry are invited, of course, but… well, he's been kind of out of it, hasn't he?"

"I'm right here," said Harry bitterly.

"Oh, good, you're actually listening," said Hermione with a playfully sarcastic bite.

Harry gave her a knowing look, and said, "Ron's been rubbing off on you."

"Yes," said Hermione fondly. "I daresay he has."

Harry turned around, smiling to himself.

"He misses you," said Hermione softly.

"Does he now?"

"'Course he does," said Hermione with a laugh. "You should hear him talk about how daft the Ministry is."

Harry walked on, and Neville and Hermione hurried to catch up.

"Regardless," said Hermione, "the Weasleys are in two minds over you being there, Harry. While they believe that you should be there with them in grief, they also recognize that the reporters will make a scene whenever you make an appearance. It's up to you, Harry, but…"

"But what, Hermione?" said Harry distantly.

"I dunno, Harry," said Hermione. "Until we figure out what happened to you, I don't know if it's a good idea to let the press near you. You look… different."

"I feel different," said Harry impatiently. "Is different okay?"

Neville shifted uncomfortably. Hermione raised an eyebrow and said, "Different is fine, Harry."

"Then what's the problem?"

Hermione looked and him wistfully and said, "Do you know why you got rejected from Auror training?"

Harry stopped dead, turned to her, and savagely said, "It doesn't make a difference."

Neville, who was standing idle, cut in, saying, "Harry, they gave me a reason. And I'm damn sure they would have given you a reason too."

"I agree, Neville, thank you," said Hermione. "They can't just reject you for no reason. There's got to be a reason for it. Did anything happen during testing?"

"Not really," sulked Harry. "I beat the record in the physical exam, the theoretical teacher said I was passable, and the psychological testing… well…"

And then it hit him, and he felt angrier than ever, and he raged, "The Ministry thinks I'm unstable."

"What did you tell her?" said Hermione, now troubled.

Harry turned and looked at her, the anger evident in his face, and then looked at Neville. Hermione looked deeply concerned, and Neville looked frightened but wary. He looked directly at Hermione and said, "I told her about the Horcuxes, and about how I was one."

Hermione was nodding thoughtfully, her eyes pointing upwards. Neville looked taken aback. Hermione said, somewhat slowly, "I think I know what happened, Harry."

Harry perked up slightly, and said, "What?"

"Are you going to listen to me, or are you going to interrupt?" Hermione said, clearly trying to keep the humor out of her voice, but failing.

"We'll see," said Harry.

"Well, Harry," Hermione reasoned. "Psychology was originally developed by both Muggles and wizards together, because it's one of the few universal studies between both magical and non-magical societies, along with sociology and biology at their purest forms. It's the study of the mind and how the mind functions, and it can be used to help determine the pitfalls in any given person based on their behavior. It's referred to as a 'soft science', which means that it's not supported by a lot of hard evidence."

"Let me guess," said Harry. "You're not a fan."

Hermione looked at him with a look of polite amusement, and said, "There's a logic to psychology that even I can't fault. Now shush."

Harry, who was about to open his mouth to respond to her again, closed his mouth and fell silent.

Hermione continued, "If you told a psychologist that you were experiencing Voldemort inside your head, you'd have a lot of problems convincing them of your mental stability. Additionally, given that it would look like you were convinced that your mind was, until recently, inhabited by Voldemort, that would present a lot of problems to the ethical Code of Conduct in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. They legally couldn't let you be an Auror."

Harry looked at her for a long time, his anger vanishing slowly. After a few moments, he said, "I suppose."

"Harry," said Neville. Both Hermione and Harry turned to look at him. He took a big breath and said, "You need to see Martha Meeker."

"Is that the psychologist?" Hermione said swiftly.

"Yes," said Harry and Neville together.

"She offered him regular sessions," said Neville.

"Harry," said Hermione. "If she offered you sessions, it's because she might think you still have a chance at becoming an Auror."

"What if I don't want to be an Auror anymore?" said Harry.

It was Hermione and Neville's turn to stop dead and look at their friend for a long time. While they stared at him, Harry realized for the first time that he didn't want to fight anymore. He did want to fight with anyone, let alone Hermione and Neville.

"Harry," said Hermione calmly. "You don't have to be an Auror."

Harry looked up at her and said, "Everyone expects…"

"People who expect something of you aren't worth the time of day," said Hermione shortly. "I don't expect more from you."

"And you're not disappointed in me either?"

"Actually, Harry, I'm relieved," said Hermione. "I never wanted you to become an Auror after Hogwarts."

Harry stared at her blankly and Neville looked at her with a look of shock. Harry said, "What did you think I was going to do?"

"I don't know," said Hermione shrewdly. "But I didn't want you to be an Auror."

"Why?" asked Neville, before Harry could respond.

"Because," Hermione said smoothly, "I think he'd never have been happy."

Harry looked at Neville, who looked back at him glumly, but Neville nodded his agreement with Hermione. Harry regarded Hermione and said, "What am I supposed to do, Hermione?"

Hermione smiled at him and said, "Well, it's up to you, and it always will be up to you, but I remember when you were leading Dumbledore's Army, and how influential and inspiring you were when you taught us to defend ourselves. Honestly, Harry, I thought and still think you should go on to be a teacher."

Harry said, "Do you?"

Hermione replied, "I do, yes. I think you'd be spectacular at it."

Harry looked at Neville, who smiled and said, "That's what I'm doing. Professor Sprout told me that I would be her first choice when she decided to retire. The Auror department did me a favor, honestly."

Harry looked from one friend to the other. A little bit of color adorned his face and he said, "I'll think about it."

"But that's only one option," said Neville. "You could do anything you wanted, really."

Harry looked at Hermione and when she nodded, he said, "I guess so."

The three friends walked on, watching the sun set on one side of the horizon, and knowing that all their futures would be a little brighter.

oOo

Lucius Malfoy sat in his office, holding a glass of wine and sipping from it, astounded by the progress that he and William Flemish had made over the past few weeks. The two had determined that the best way of defending his and his family's actions during the war was not to deny their involvement, but to make the Wizengamot aware that everything they did was to protect themselves.

There was the matter of Narcissa's actions in the Forbidden Forest as well. Could saving Harry Potter's life give them some sort of amnesty against the Wizengamot?

And Draco… There was significant enough evidence that Draco had been forced into becoming a Death Eater. He was so young, after all.

While the evidence that Lucius had compiled was certainly vast and powerful, it could not compare to expert witnesses, and, well, there were remarkably few witnesses left after the Dark Lord's campaign of terror.

Draco had brought up something interesting, though. He had been writing Luna Lovegood, who, as Lucius pained to remember, had been locked with Ollivander in the cellar for several weeks. Draco had said that Luna would be willing to testify for him, that she knew he was being forced into the acts of servitude to the Dark Lord, that she had said something vague about there being "a whole lot of Nargles in this house", and that it was a wonder that any of the inhabitants had any sense at all. Perhaps there was some merit to her testimony, considering they were hardly at the helm of what had happened here anyways.

But there was an even bigger piece of testimony that Lucius wanted for his family, the ultimate trump card in all of this: the testimony and support of Harry Potter. Harry Potter could be the lynchpin that kept the Malfoy family afloat; after the actions of Draco and Narcissa during the war, Potter would be bound magically to support them in trial. Potter owed them debts, and Lucius was hellbent on taking full opportunity from his debts.

Lucius grabbed a roll of parchment and a quill and begin to write a letter.

oOo

Later one night, a few days after Hermione had visited, Harry was curled up one of the enormously comfortable chairs in Augusta's library, halfway through Tolkien's 'The Fellowship of the Ring'. He liked it so far; while the writing was a little dry at times, he liked the friendship between Frodo and Sam. It reminded Harry of his friendship with Ron, and Harry liked that; he really enjoyed projecting himself onto the characters that he read about.

He heard a knock on the window on the other side of the room, and heard a flurry of wings. He opened the window, and a magnificent eagle owl swooped inside and regally landed on the coffee table, carrying a roll of parchment, which was sealed with a golden wax seal embossed with an ornate letter 'M'. Harry unfurled the parchment, and begun to read:

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_I know that we have agreed on few things in the past; far and between, I do not believe there was a single thing we saw eye to eye on. The war changed many things about the way I look upon the world and how the world looks upon my family, and it is my deepest regret that my actions cost so many lives. Though I understand that I deserve every consequence of my involvement with the Dark Lord, I do not wish the same fate on Draco or Narcissa._

_The reason that I am writing to you is because I would like to request that you testify on the accounts of Draco and Narcissa during the Death Eater Trials. I hope you understand that after their actions during the war that helped assist you conquer the Dark Lord that they do not deserve the perils of Azkaban or worse._

_ Additionally, I would like to, if possible, put aside our past differences in favor of rebuilding the wizarding world. The Dark Lord has destroyed many of the foundations of our society, and publicly and personally I believe that it would be best if we collaborated on renewing wizarding society in Britain. While I recognize the uphill battle that we face in doing so, I am more that prepared to help repair the Dark Lord's damages if it will reconcile my family's involvement during the war._

_Thank you for taking the time to read this message, Mr. Potter. I imagine that you are considerably bogged down with post-war responsibilities, so I appreciate your understanding in the matter._

_I would also appreciate it if you would do us the honor of visiting Malfoy Manor to discuss such things. I understand if this is an impossibility for you, and if you are not willing to revisit the Manor after the events that you witnessed there, but I would greatly appreciate an audience with you to discuss these matters._

_Sincerely,_

_Lucius Malfoy_

Harry reread the letter several times. He'd already been planning to testify on the behalf of Draco and Narcissa. Not that he had a choice, of course: Martha Meeker had said that the Wizengamot would want to require him to testify his entire story under Veritaserum.

Harry sighed, raised his wand and muttered, "Accio."

Two rolls of parchment and a quill zoomed towards him from the other room, which he caught using his ever present seeker reflexes. He scrawled a quick reply to Lucius:

_Dear Mr. Malfoy,_

_Thank you for your letter. I was already planning on testifying on the behalf of Draco and Narcissa. I need to discuss the things you said in your letter with someone before I do anything._

_Harry Potter_

And then he wrote a short letter to Martha Meeker:

_Dear Martha,_

_I would like to set up another appointment with you as soon as you can._

_Harry Potter_

He rolled up the two letters, attached the one to Lucius Malfoy to the resolute owl standing on the coffee table, which swooped off immediately through the open window. Harry then went to find Terence, who was probably hunting for the spare unfortunate field mouse.

* * *

Author's Note:

As always, thanks so much for reading! Chapter 5 already, wow.

You guys are either going to love me or hate me for next chapter, which comes out on Thursday. Maybe both. Probably both.

Hope you all enjoyed it!

-TG


	6. Chapter 6: Appointments

Chapter 6: Appointments

Harry sat in the enchanted office across from Martha Meeker. As per her return letter, she had opened up the wards just minutes prior to allow him to Apparate directly into her office to avoid the jaws and claws of the rabid press that would undoubtedly follow his every movement.

Martha was wearing a canary yellow set of robes today, and her golden locks were set in a loose bun. Her Quick-Quotes Quill was standing at attention at her side, and she wore an expression of polite intrigue.

"Well, Harry," she began, and the quill began writing at once, "I would like to begin by explain to you why you were not admitted to the Auror department three weeks ago."

Harry's eyes narrowed, but he gave no other inclination to this statement. Without further ado, Martha continued, "Harry, I was the one who prevented you from becoming an Auror. Many of the things you said during our first session were very concerning to me, and under the Ministry of Magic Department of Magic Law Enforcement Charter of Rights and Code of Conduct, I could not allow you to pursue becoming an Auror.

"While I cannot and will not make a diagnosis after one session, I will say that we need to more closely look at your mental stability," said Meeker.

"Why?" said Harry.

"Because," said Martha, sounding a little hesitant, "It is of great interest to the Ministry of Magic that you are mentally stable."

Harry gave her a sour look and quipped, "If all you want to do is make me look fine so the Ministry can maintain a pristine image…"

"My top priority is to maintain the mental health of my patients," said Martha sternly. "And, Harry Potter, I will do my best with each of my patients regardless of my responsibilities to the Ministry."

Harry fell silent again.

"Now, then," said Martha, relaxing visibly. "I want to tell you some of the exactly reasons you were not admitted to the Auror Academy: first, you display a very volatile range and scope of emotions and reactions, which can be indicative of a number of different conditions; second, you display significant indicators of post-traumatic stress disorder, which would make it very challenging for you to work as an Auror; third, you display evidence of frequent recent hallucinations…"

"What are hallucinations?" Harry cut across her.

Martha looked at him for a moment and said, "Hallucinations are perception in the absence of apparent stimulus that has qualities of real perception: they are realistic experiences of things that aren't actually happening."

Harry said, "I was never experiencing hallucinations. Voldemort was inside my mind and feeding me what he was seeing."

Martha sat back, clearly thinking. If Harry was telling the truth (and he was), then there was a magical explanation.

"I know Lord Voldemort was a practiced Legilimens," she said calmly. "Did you ever practice Occlumency?"

"I was terrible," said Harry glumly.

"So," said Martha, shifting slightly. "While you attempted to practice Occlumency, you were unable to repel Voldemort's liaisons into your mind?"

"Yes," said Harry.

"That's… not good."

They sat in silence for a moment.

"Harry," Martha said slowly. "As a part of my work, I extensively studied Occlumency and Legilimency. I am adept at both. I am sorry to inform you that unless you can study Occlumency in sterile conditions, where your mind is not under constant penetration, you cannot be successful at it. Your attempts at Occlumency were absolutely futile. Additionally, attempting to study Occlumency while on guard from Legilimency attacks is very dangerous, and attempting it possibly did more damage to you than protected you.

"While I understand that you may not have been hallucinating on the occasions with Voldemort, I cannot account you for somewhat-dying in the Forbidden Forest," said Martha. "Psychology can be a very complicated field when it comes to the wizarding world, but I believe that your particular example would be considered rare to the point of singularity, which makes the decision to keep you from becoming an Auror even more challenging because there is not another instance of your predicament recorded."

Harry looked at her, and slowly nodded. He murmured something inaudible.

"What was that?"

"I said, 'I don't think I want to be an Auror anyways'," said Harry. "The Ministry makes a lot of decisions that I hardly agree with."

Martha smiled slightly, nodded, and said, "I'm glad to hear that you have come to this revelation."

"But," said Harry, "I'm not sure what I would like to do."

"Harry, said Martha. "May I point something out to you?"

Harry nodded, leaning forward slightly.

"You're Harry Potter," said Martha with a grin. "You already saved the wizarding world. If you don't want to, you don't have to do anything else for the rest of your life."

"But I want to do something," said Harry automatically.

"Largely I think that is a good thing," said Martha simply. "I think direction in your life is very good."

Harry looked past her, through the enchanted windows. Martha stared at him, giving him time to think. He said, "I still don't know what to do."

Martha shifted again, checking her watch, and said, "Well, I think we should set up another meeting, Harry, and before then, I want you to come up with five jobs that you could see yourself doing. I think we made great progress today, Harry."

"Is it already time?" said Harry

"Psychology makes time fly," said Martha.

Harry went to get up, and said, "I think we need to discuss me testifying at the Death Eater trials. Lucius Malfoy has already written to me to discuss testifying on behalf of his family."

"I thought you were planning on it anyways," said Martha idly.

"I was, well, am," said Harry "but he also invited me to visit Malfoy Manor to discuss everything. Mentioned something about restoring the wizarding world as well."

Martha raised an eyebrow and got up as well, and began drawing shapes in the wards for Harry's departure. She said, "Well, I'd suggest for you to meet with him. I can't imagine you'd have anything to fear from a family who wants you to help them, after all."

"That's true, I guess," said Harry.

"And if they do try anything, you do hold the record from best physical examination with the Auror department," said Martha sweetly.

Harry grinned in spite of himself, and said, "How does next week work?"

oOo

Harry Apparated into the rolling hills of Wiltshire, and upon his arrival, he realized that the endless fields of flowers and greenery were what the windows in Martha's office depicted. He could see for miles, and, upon turning around, he was greeted by the true magnificence of Malfoy Manor.

The last time Harry had been there, of course, he was being dragged inside with Ron and Hermione by the Snatchers, and he had only escaped because Dobby sacrificed himself for the prisoners of Malfoy Manor. Yet it was not unsettling to be there; it looked different in the day.

Malfoy Manor was opulent, and the grounds were far bigger that Harry had seen before. As he walked towards it, he couldn't help but marvel at the magnificent of the towering house, the tall hedges that guaranteed the Malfoys privacy, and, most intriguing, a peacock strutting on top of one of the hedges.

He stopped at the gate, which twisted into that mechanical face and predictably said, "State your purpose!"

Harry, feeling a little silly, said, "I, Harry James Potter…"

But upon hear his voice and his name, the gate opened at once. Harry strode through the gate, looking around, and taking in the illustrious gardens of the Manor. At night the house was ominous, but in the day it was merely spectacular.

Harry felt a small nip on his hand and noticed that one of the albino peacocks was investigating his fingers. The bird continued to nibble gently, and then looked up at Harry innocently. It stalked away, turned and looked at him expectantly as though beckoning him to join it, and began walking again. Harry followed with a mild interest as to where the bird would take him.

The peacock escorted him around the property to the back side of the Manor, where there was a fountain playing gently and a large sunroom adjacent. The Malfoys had chosen to use the large amount of their property behind the house as a huge hedge maze, which had several more fountains playing at various points.

"Potter?"

The voice of person who had called his name was none other than Draco Malfoy, who was sitting on the edge of the fountain, feeding the dozen or so albino peacocks, including the one that had escorted Harry across the property. He was wearing a white button down short sleeve shirt (apparently, despite their Pureblood mania, the Malfoys did not object to the highest pedigree of Muggle fashion) and a pair of khaki slacks. His left forearm was covered in a bandage of gauze.

"Malfoy," said Harry shortly.

"What are you doing here?" said Malfoy at once, wrinkling his nose.

"You father asked me to…"

"My father asked you to set up an appointment, Potter, not show up whenever you felt like it," said Malfoy, incensed.

"Oh," said Harry, having not thought about how rude it was to come unannounced. Malfoy got up from the fountain, dumped the remainder of the seed on the ground for the birds, and strode over to Harry. Harry was dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, and did not look prepared to meet with Lucius and Narcissa, as far as Draco was concerned.

"Potter," said Malfoy, lowering his voice. "You honestly didn't come to the Manor dressed like that to talk to my parents, did you?"

Harry looked down at his outfit and said, "I didn't think anything of it."

"And yet my parents will think everything of it," grumbled Draco, sighing heavily. "Come on, Potter. I don't want my parents seeing you like that."

And he strode towards the house, signaling that Harry should follow. He went into a door on the east wing, up a staircase directly ahead of them, took a left, another left and a right, and entered what was unmistakably Draco Malfoy's bedroom.

To Harry's surprise, it was not embellished with the green and silver of Slytherin; Draco had chosen to furnish in a deep royal purple, pitch black, and dusty gold. There was a magnificent bed in the middle of the room, which was adorned with a plum canopy. Floor to ceiling windows overlooked the east side of the property, which featured the hills of Wiltshire, and, in the distance…

"Is that…?"

"Stonehenge, Potter," said Draco dismissively. While Harry had been gazing at the room in awe, he had gotten Harry a pair of brown slacks, a lime button down shirt, and a completely plain tie.

Harry suddenly wrinkled his eyebrows and said, "I'm not wearing your clothes, Malfoy."

"Then you're not meeting my parents," said Malfoy, shrugging.

Hesitantly, Harry took the outfit that Draco had thrust at him out of his open arms. Harry noticed the bandaging on his left arm again and asked, "What happened to your arm?"

Draco looked at Harry scathingly, "Are you daft?"

"Only sometimes," said Harry truthfully, grinning.

Draco, who was clearly trying to hold back a smirk, said flatly, "It's… That's… I…"

And then it hit Harry. The Dark Mark.

Draco noticed that his demeanor had changed, and said softly, "There's a bathroom across the hall."

Harry took another long look at Malfoy. On closer inspection, he had dark circles underneath his eyes, and he looked more forlorn than ever.

"Go, Potter."

oOo

Harry emerged from the bathroom ten minutes later fully dressed and looking wonderfully presentable. The tie that Draco had given him had adapted immediately to his outfit, taking on a brown and grey striped pattern.

Draco met him in the hallway, and they looked at each other for a long while. Harry gestured at Draco's arm and said, "Malfoy, I'm…"

"Don't waste your breath, Potter," quipped Draco sourly. "At your personal mortality rate, you might need it."

Harry looked at Malfoy sardonically and, "Forget it, then."

Malfoy raised himself back up to his full height and beckoned for Harry to follow him. He escorted Potter back downstairs, out to the fountain, where a woman with long blonde hair was waiting for them. Narcissa Malfoy was standing resolute by the fountain, statuesque as ever.

"Draco," said Narcissa, "Have you seen Harry Potter? The wards said that he was…"

And then she caught sight of Harry, and her visage changed, becoming politer, if not haughtier. She gave Harry a little bow, and said, "I'm sorry for not greeting you properly, Mr. Potter. By the time that I'd gotten to the front gate, you were nowhere to be found."

"It's quite fine, Mrs. Malfoy. One of your peacocks led me around the house here," said Harry quietly.

"Oh, yes," said Narcissa. "Those birds are absolutely incorrigible. Can't help but impress the guests."

"I was just showing him the East Wing, Mother," said Draco.

"Excellent," said Narcissa. "I'm glad you are being such a kind host. Draco, Mr. Potter, if you'd like to come into the library with me, I've asked Difty to prepare afternoon tea for us."

Harry and Draco followed her into the house through the sunroom, and through a set of oak doors at the west end of the hall.

The library was magnificent on all accounts, and Harry reminded himself to smuggle Hermione in for a better look at some point. It was dark and unlit, except for the glass ceiling, and it stretched several floors. There were four comfortable looking chairs in the middle of it, seated around a modern coffee table.

Narcissa said, her voice echoing around the room, "The ceiling is enchanted, Mr. Potter. The room has an undetectable extension charm, so that this library will never truly fill. Unfortunately, the entire collection is not owned by the Malfoys; about a third of it, well, rightfully belongs to you, as heir to the Black family."

This was certainly a surprise to Harry. Though he was the heir of the Black family, and owned Number 12, Grimmauld Place, he never expected to learn that he had inherited anything else. He said, "You can keep them, as far as I'm concerned."

"Thank you, Mr. Potter, but I'm afraid we can't," said Narcissa gently. "Books are one of the exceptions that cannot change ownership until death, at least under magical consideration, which these certainly are."

Harry nodded, and Narcissa beckoned him and Draco to sit. Harry sat facing west, and Draco sat facing south and Narcissa north. Narcissa cleared her throat, and a house elf appeared carrying a tea tray, and set it on the table afore them. Narcissa said, "Help yourself to some tea, Mr. Potter. I also had Difty make some treacle tart for you; Draco says it's your favorite."

Harry momentarily wondered how on earth Draco Malfoy knew his favorite dessert, but Draco said, "It's all you eat at dinner sometimes, Potter."

Harry smiled in spite of himself, and he took a slice of tart and a cup of tea while Draco and Narcissa helped themselves to tea as well. Narcissa looked from Draco to Harry and said, "Well, Mr. Potter, if all's well and done…"

"I'd rather it if you called me Harry, Mrs. Malfoy," said Harry.

"And I'd prefer to be called Narcissa, Harry," said Narcissa, much more warmly than Harry could've thought possible. "I would prefer if you would call Draco by his given name as well. As far as I am concerned, you're family."

"I am?"

"Yes," said Narcissa. "You, as one of the last remnants of the Black family and its sole heir, are as much family to me as a nephew or a son."

Harry felt confused, and said, "I don't know what to say."

"Well, think of it this way, Potter," said Draco –

His mother cut across him, "He'd said he'd prefer 'Harry', Draco. Where are your manners?"

Draco gave his mother a glower, had himself a huge gulp, and said, "Sirius and Regulus Black are dead, as is Bellatrix, so it's only you, her, and Andromeda left."

"That's exactly it, Draco," said Narcissa quietly. "I have already reestablished contact with Andromeda. She and I were secretly communicating during the war, when I had realized just how important family is to me. The Dark Lord changed many things, Harry, but not how much I love my kin.

"And that's one of the reasons I saved you in the Forbidden Forest; the other, of course, being to save Draco. You are the last family I have left, and you are the only one who can help restore both the Malfoy and the Black names."

"But," said Harry, "What about blood status? Isn't that why your family was split in the first place?"

"Mr. Potter," said a voice from the other end of the room, "blood status is hardly everything."

Lucius Malfoy, cane and all, was striding towards them. Narcissa and Draco both stood, and Harry followed suit. When he reached them, he gave Narcissa and Draco both a curt nod, and then held out his hand for Harry, who hesitantly took it and shook. They sat in unison.

"As I was saying, Mr. Potter," said Lucius, "Narcissa and I have a been thinking lately, and, well, unfortunately, there are so few Pureblood wizards and witches remaining in Britain that they is hardly any reason to continue caring as much about blood status and begin caring more about the stature of our society.

"This country is changing, and as much as I and many other have tried to stop it, the change cannot be stopped. It has been made clear that all we can do is accept the change or lose everything we hold valuable. Naturally," Lucius said, swallowing, "we'd like to stay as influential as possible."

"So you're saying that the only way to save yourselves is to accept defeat and move on?" said Harry, more abrasively that he'd meant to.

"In short, yes," said Narcissa. "But we're also saying that family is more important that blood purity. Change takes a long time, Harry, and, well, we'd rather be spearheading the changes than steadfast in our views that may not be politically correct, or to be impeding the continuation of magical individuals."

"We're also not moving entirely from tradition either," said Lucius slyly. "We'll keep marriages and our family as pure as possible for as long as possible, but we won't be opposing Mudbloods or Muggles anymore."

Harry cringed at the word 'Mudblood', but, well, old habits did die hard. Lucius continued, "You know, Mr. Potter, the Malfoy family, though we'd never have admitted it before now, once kept excellent relations in the Muggle world. Before the Statute of Secrecy was established, we were in the aristocratic circles of both Muggles and wizards alike."

Harry looked across the coffee table at him inquisitively. He said, "Do you regret it? Everything that happened?"

"All of it," said Lucius, not breaking eye contact. "Your parents were quite talented, Potter."

"And you're sure?"

"Yes," said Lucius softly.

Harry leaned back, having already made up his mind about the Malfoys' allegiances. He said, "I believe you and I will testify to your behalf. After the trials conclude, we can discuss your plans for the wizarding world more…"

"Fully," supplied Draco with a sneer. He had not spoken the whole time.

"Draco," said Lucius warningly.

"No, father," said Draco testily. "He's still Harry Potter, and he still put me through hell at school."

"Language, Draco," said Narcissa.

Harry cut across her, saying, "No, Narcissa, he's kind of right, though I'd say that we put each other through hell at school."

Draco's lips thinned, and then he got up and departed from the room without another word. Lucius got up and followed him, and Narcissa sighed heavily, "Harry, you'll have to forgive him. He's taking the war the hardest; most of what the Dark Lord had him do were acts he was forced into doing. He never wanted to be a Death Eater, and I never wanted it for him."

Harry nodded.

"He's always liked you though," she said thoughtfully. "He'll never admit it, but he'd always wanted to be your friend and ally. You and him butting heads at school made him quite insecure, I think."

Harry thought for a long time about that. Twiddling his thumbs, he looked at her and said, "I guess I could see that."

Narcissa got up and said, "It's nearly dinner time, and I think it would be better if I had some time with Draco and Lucius before inviting you to stay. If you'll follow me, Harry, I'll escort you out. Thank you for coming and meeting with us."

oOo

"What were you playing at, Father?"

"Draco," Lucius sighed, "you know we each had to play our part in making him feel like we wanted to restore the wizarding world to anything but its former status. You know that he's our ticket out of this mess."

"So?"

"So don't make the mistake of breaking character again. We want Harry Potter on our side."

oOo

Harry appeared again, not outside of the House on the Cliffs, but in front of the garden fence at the Burrow. It was twilight, and the gnomes were just getting settled for the night in their respective wellington boots.

He crossed the yard to the front door, where he stopped. He'd thought about coming here for a while now; now that he was here he didn't feel like it was time. He turned around, and begun crossing the yard again, when the door was flung open, and a woman's voice scolded, "Harry James Potter!"

He turned around slowly to see Molly Weasley standing in the threshold, looking at him angrily. She marched across the yard and said, "We've not heard from you in weeks. Thought you'd fallen off the face of the earth. And then you have the audacity to come to our house and not even knock during dinner?"

"I…"

"No," said Molly warmly. "No excuses. Get inside that house so I can feed you."

Smiling warmly, she placed her arm around his shoulders, began walking him to the doorway, and said, "Up you get."

He obliged, and he was greeted to most of the Weasley family sitting at the long table inside, who greeted him warmly as he entered the room. Harry had never gotten so many hugs in his life.

Bill and Fleur were there, and Fleur was more radiant than ever. Percy and Mr. Weasley were looking more and more a like nowadays, and they were engaged in a long talk over what steps the Ministry was taking next. George was awfully quiet, and he look gaunt and , and shadow of his usually self. And Ginny was remarkably beautiful, of course.

He took a seat between George and Ginny.

"What were you up to today, Harry?" asked Bill.

"Well," I had an appointment with someone at the Ministry, and then I had tea with, er, some friends."

"What friends?" asked Ginny swiftly.

"Just friends," said Harry, thinking it would be better not to say that he'd met with the Malfoys. Ginny gave him an exasperated look.

Molly came by with a place setting for him and immediately started piling food onto his plate. Harry had given up trying to resist long ago; Mrs. Weasley's cooking was to die for. After a few delicious bites, Harry said, "Where's Ron and Hermione?"

"Australia," said Ginny softly. "Now that the war is over, they went to find Hermione's parents."

"Yes," said Mrs. Weasley, nodding. "It's about time John and Rose were back in England, after all. Didn't Hermione send you a note telling you about the trip?"

"I didn't get anything from Hermione," said Harry bitterly. "And Ron hasn't talked to me in weeks."

"No," said Ginny exasperatedly. "You've not talked to us at all. Ron doesn't have a damn thing against you."

"Ginny! Language!" said Molly.

Ginny rolled her eyes and cast a dark look at Harry. She huffed, "I'm really disappointed in you, Harry."

The table went very quiet as all the other Weasleys looked at Ginny in surprise, and then at Harry in apprehensive. Harry looked briefly at Ginny, then down at his half-finished dinner. He said, "Thanks, Mrs. Weasley, but I think I better be going."

"Wait, Harry," crooned Molly, "Won't you stay for dessert?"

"No, Mrs. Weasley," said Harry quietly. "I think I've overstayed my welcome."

"No, Harry," said a voice from across the table. It was Arthur. "You're always welcome here."

"Always," said George suddenly.

Harry turned to George, and he reluctantly let a small smile cross his face, but he said, "I really better be going. Thank you for dinner."

He made to get up, and Ginny grabbed his arm. She said, fire in her eyes, "I want a word with you, Harry Potter."

Harry sighed, and he motioned for her to get up and follow him outside. She obliged, keeping a measured distance from him, and when they got outside among the gnomes and wellington boots, she said, "Why did you come back?"

"I don't know," said Harry, even though he did. He liked the quiet.

"Why didn't you come to me for comfort when the Aurors rejected you?" said Ginny. Subtlety was never Ginny's strong suit.

"I don't know," said Harry, even though he did. He liked independence.

"Why weren't you there for me?"

"I don't know," said Harry.

Ginny looked at him scathingly and said, "You don't know very much, do you?"

"Maybe not," said Harry coldly. "But I know that you're not the same girl I liked at Hogwarts. That Ginny wouldn't have ever done this to me, especially in front of her family."

Ginny grimaced at him and said, "The war changed a lot of things."

"Yeah," said Harry flatly. "Yeah, it did."

Ginny looked angrily at him and said, "Well?"

"Well what, Ginny? What do you expect me to say?" said Harry.

Ginny sighed and said, "Well, what do you think you're doing, Harry? You were so sure of yourself at Hogwarts, so ready to live your life after the war and settle down and, well, everything. Is it too much to expect that from you?"

"Ginny," said Harry exhaustedly. "It's not that I don't still want those things."

"Well, then, what is it?"

Harry felt his temper begin to rise, and he said through gritted teeth, "I just don't know if I want those things… well…"

"With me?"

Harry looked at Ginny, and he realized that it didn't matter what he said next. It didn't matter what he said to Ginny anymore. She was far too keen to put words into his mouth than to actually listen to what he was saying. He turned away from her.

"No, Ginny," he said slowly. "I just don't know if I want those things yet."

He heard a sniff from behind him and turned to see her starting to cry. He reached out an arm, but she batted it away, saying, "No, Harry, just go."

"Gin," said Harry.

"No, Harry," said Ginny. "Get out."

Harry looked at her wistfully and Apparated away without another word.

oOo

"Hey, Harry, how was your day?"

"It wasn't the best, Neville."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No, Neville."

"Are you sure?"

* * *

Author's Note:

I hope I did okay writing Ginny. Also Draco. But Draco's more fun to write than Ginny is, for sure.

The next chapter is short, but it is draining. It's worth the read, but it'll be... difficult to do so. A lot of people don't like thinking about the first ten years of Harry's life.

Hope you enjoyed reading! I love seeing your reviews!

-TG


	7. Chapter 7: Diagnosis

Chapter 7: Diagnosis

The following morning, Neville crept up to Harry's room and knocked on the door softly, saying, "Harry? Are you there, mate?"

There was no reply, so Neville went to turn the doorknob, but found it locked. He pulled out his wand, tapped the doorknob once, and said, "Alohomora."

The door clicked open, and Neville went inside. He found Harry completely naked, rolled over on one side away from him, apparently asleep. There were scars, more scars than Neville thought Harry had, up and down his body, and there were long, fresh scratches that lined his back and arms.

Neville, feeling slightly sick, turned to leave, but then –

"Don't go."

Neville spun on the spot, looking at Harry, who had turned his head to look at him, his face red and puffy. He said, "Harry, I think you need attention. Medical attention."

"What?" said Harry groggily. "No, Neville, I'm fine."

"No, Harry," said Neville. "No, you're not."

oOo

When Augusta Longbottom entered Harry's room, she was admittedly unprepared for the sight that met her eyes. While she had seen Neville naked enough to be used to the male anatomy, Harry's naked form was not that of Neville's.

Neville had always grown up with enough food on the table, but Harry's body was evident of years of malnourishment. While he readily ate when given the opportunity, she could still distinctly see his ribs through his pasty skin. There were scars all over him, some much more fresh than others. His hair was, as always, an untidy mop, which completed Harry's look of, well, insanity.

She turned her grandson and beckoned him closer, whispering in his ear, "I'm sorry, Neville, but I'm making a call to Miriam at St. Mungo's."

"You mean…"

"Yes, Neville," said Augusta gravely. "That's exactly what I mean."

oOo

No more than ten minutes later, Miriam Strout, Martha Meeker, and Augusta Longbottom were sitting in the library in the House on the Cliffs. The doors and windows were closed, and the drapes had been drawn, and the privacy wards had been set in place by the Healer and the psychologist.

Martha was clearly uncomfortable with Miriam and Augusta. Both were superiors of hers, Miriam having worked for years in Permanent Spell Damage and St. Mungos and Augusta… Well, Augusta Longbottom's reputation precedes her.

And in was Augusta who broke the silence between them, "How are Frank and Alice, Miriam?"

"Stable," said Miriam simply. "How is Harry Potter?"

"That's why you're here," said Augusta slowly. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."

"What was his condition when you found him?"

Augusta lifted her wand and pressed it to her temple, extracting the memory. She held out her wand, and both Miriam and Martha touched their wands to the memory. They brought their wands to their temples and their expressions changed at once as they vividly relived the memory, Martha's become more puzzled and Miriam's more concerned.

Martha Meeker shifted slightly, and said, "I need to talk to him, Healer Strout. He is my patient first."

"No, Dr. Meeker, he is first and foremost a patient of St. Mungo's, and I must make sure that he is stable enough to talk to you," said Miriam shortly.

"He's never been admitted," said Augusta. "At least as far as I know."

"Yes, he has," said Miriam. "The Hogwarts hospital wing contracts out through St. Mungo's. Poppy Pomfrey is a St. Mungo's Healer, and all the records from Hogwarts are transferred to St. Mungo's in case of extended illness or injury. Additionally, any previous record of childhood injury will be recorded in his file, as St. Mungo's magically monitors all young witches and wizards from early life. That has always been standard procedure."

"Healer Strout," said Meeker. "Will he need to be admitted?"

"I don't think so. He looks emotionally and physically shaken, but I won't know until I see him," said Miriam. "I need to run his diagnostics, and I need to know if he is still functioning. Can I see him, Augusta?"

oOo

In the meantime, Neville had been sitting at the desk in Harry's room.

"What happened yesterday, Harry?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Where were you?"

"I went to meet with Martha, and then to meet with…" Harry trailed off.

"Meet with whom?"

Harry said nothing.

"I'm not going to get mad at you."

Harry sighed, and curled up, saying something inaudible.

"I didn't hear that," said Neville softly.

"THE MALFOYS!" shouted Harry. "I WENT TO MEET WITH THE MOTHERFUCKING MALFOYS, NEVILLE! AND… And…"

Neville sat, rather shocked. The Malfoys… well, if Harry trusted them…

He recovered from Harry's sudden outburst, and said, "And?"

Harry sighed, and looked away. "And they treated me like I was…. Like I was family. Like I was…. Home."

Neville was very surprised by this. Were the Malfoys really treating him so kindly, or were they doing it to get out of their war crimes?

Harry said, "And then I went to the Burrow, and I had dinner with the Weasleys. Things started out okay, but…"

"Yes?" said Neville, quieter still, afraid from another outburst.

And he was right, because Harry's voice rose uncontrollably again to a fever pitch, and he screamed, "AND THEN GINNY WENT AND FUCKED EVERYTHING UP. SHE TOLD ME SHE WAS DISAPPOINTED IN ME AND THAT I WAS… I was…"

Neville, who was looking at his feet instead of at Harry, said, "You were?"

"She said that I wasn't there for her."

This was something that Neville knew to be true, and could honestly say that he was not surprised to hear it had come from Ginny.

"Neville?"

"Yes?"

"Why is everything upside down?"

oOo

Miriam Strout gently knocked at the door of Harry's room. There were the sound of a few footsteps, and Neville answered it. She beamed at him and said, "Neville! How are you doing?"

Neville's grim look said it all, and she said, "Could I see him, then, Neville?"

Neville stepped out of the way, and she bustled into the room. The room itself was untidy, but not unclean, though that could not be said about the naked figure on the bed.

When Miriam had last seen Harry Potter, he was, of course, clothed. He had been with Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger at St. Mungo's, and they were visitors of Gilderoy Lockhart's. At the time, Miriam hadn't taken a good look at him, but she had seen him at least looking physically healthy and reasonably content.

This was not true of the Harry Potter she saw in front of him today. This Harry Potter was apparently deranged, with serious indications of having harmed himself, and it was clear that he had been malnourished.

The Potter file had always been most carefully monitored at St. Mungo's, for obvious reasons. Miriam, though one of the most respected Healers at St. Mungo's, had to call in a solid to a friend in the hospital's administration to get ahold of the file. When she had gotten ahold of it, she wondered in amazement how on earth Albus Dumbledore had not landed himself in Akzaban. Perhaps Dumbledore had turned a blind eye, or he had even truly been unaware, but the records of severe child abuse, including, but not limited to, malnourishment, physical abuse, and psychological abuse in Vernon and Petunia Dursleys' household were clearly stated in his extensive file.

Had it been a wizarding household, St. Mungo's would have intervened, but due to the Statute of Secrecy, they were unable to do anything. From as far as he could tell, there was no way that Harry would have had access to the systems in place for Muggles to report abuse, and, well, children at that age were so impressionable in the first place that he probably believed his aunt and uncle's declamations of his stature. Harry Potter slipped through the cracks of the inane bureaucracy of magical law, and he would never be able to recover from the years of abuse he was put through by his only living relatives.

This Harry Potter was evidence of his early life, a remnant of his childhood development. He had only had enough food to live, he only had enough space to breathe, and he only had the support of his own unique brand of magic. In fact, at the hands of the Dursleys, the only reason why Harry was still alive and moderate functioning was because he magic created protective barriers between he and his relatives, a safety-net of support. Nevertheless, he was too thin and too feeble to have been nourished properly.

Miriam quietly approached the bed, and Harry turned to look at her. He looked drained, physically and emotionally. He said, "Who are you?"

"Harry," said Miriam gently, "I am Miriam Strout, and I am a Healer from St. Mungo's Hospital of Magical Maladies and Injuries. I am here to help."

"Are you here to take me away?"

Miriam surveyed him warmly, and said, "No, Harry, I am not."

Harry visibly relaxed at her words, and allowed her to come closer. She brandished her wand, and began to trace it along the contours of his body. Some of his more fresh wounds healed instantly, leaving only what was permanent scarring.

He squirmed a little bit, and said, "That tickles."

"Good," said Miriam. "It should tickle. That means there won't be scarring. When was the last time you ate, Harry?"

"Last night."

"Well," said Miriam, "I think it would be best if you had something to eat. When was the last time you drank?"

"The same time."

"Then you need water, as well," said Miriam. "And when was the last you slept?"

Harry didn't answer.

"Harry?" said Miriam.

"Not since before going to the Aurors," said Harry softly. Martha surveyed him, giving him a softened look.

"Harry," said Miriam. "There are potions to help you sleep."

"I don't like them."

"Why not?"

"I don't like depending on things," said Harry.

Miriam stopped tracing her wand and looked Harry over. He was covered in war scars. Essence of dittany can only do so much. She said, "There we go; all better, physically."

"I don't feel any different," said Harry bitterly.

"And how do you feel?"

Harry sighed, and turned away from her. "I'm angry," he grumbled.

"What are you angry about?"

"That my bloody life is upside down. The people who were my friends are now my enemies and the people who were the enemies are my friends. Everyone still expects everything and more from me, and I feel like I'll never be good enough. It's so confusing and I don't understand any of it," said Harry hastily.

"I see," said Miriam calmly.

She turned to leave, and but Harry said, "What's wrong with me, Healer?"

Miriam looked at him sadly. She thought for a moment, and then said, "Sometimes, Harry, being a Healer is very challenging. There is so much Healers can do to save people. We can heal the sick, strengthen the feeble, and save people from dying. But we cannot change the past. We cannot change what happened to you or anyone else, and we cannot change how the actions of others alter the course of your life. That is a power that usually you and only you are in control of, and it pains me that I cannot do more for you. The truth of the matter is that you have been so strong against everyone who hurt you, but you can't change how much they hurt you. You have been deeply affected by the war, and you might not be entirely aware of it all, and it's going to be a long time before you see the world as a good place."

He looked at her in silence, and for the first time since then had met, the look in his eyes transported her into the horrors of his childhood that she could only imagine, the horrors that were so well notated in his file; from being locked in the cupboard under the stairs for weeks on end to being beaten by his cousin and his uncle, this was the results of years of child abuse that sat naked before him. Something about the end of Voldemort had unhinged all of him, and his oldest, most repressed pains were coming to the surface in droves.

With one more long look at him, she said, "I'll send Neville back in. I would suggest that you get dressed and come down for breakfast."

oOo

Miriam Strout returned to the library, where she found Augusta and Martha discussing the legacy of Alice and Frank Longbottom. She politely said, "Augusta, I don't mean to impose, but I need to discuss some things with Martha in private."

Augusta got up without another words and left the room, and then Miriam immediately said, "Why have you held off on treating him, Martha? Why have you held off on the diagnosis?"

"I wanted to be sure."

"Did you ever consider that you're doing him a disservice by being absolutely sure?"

"Yes, Healer, I did."

"Are you sure now of his conditions?"

"No," said Martha stiffly. "Not yet. The Ministry likes a little bit more certainty than St. Mungo's does, I'm afraid."

"Well, dear, I'll to override you," said Miriam. "He needs stability. He needs a cure."

"Some conditions aren't curable, Miriam," said Martha adamantly. "I need more time to study him before I try to heal him."

"Healing him is going to be challenging, Martha. He is very close to being admitted to St. Mungo's, and frankly, if we wait any longer with a diagnosis, I will have to admit him," said Miriam, "I am sure of his conditions, and so I will be diagnosing him. Once again, St. Mungo's will be picking up the pieces that the Ministry leaves behind. You may treat him, as he is your patient, but I will diagnose him."

Recognizing the influence of St. Mungo's, and knowing better not argue further, Martha nodded, and gestured for Miriam to continue. Miriam drew herself up and said, "Let it be recorded that Harry Potter has several mental disorders that will be treated in due course. First, he has borderline personality disorder. Second, he has bipolar disorder. Third, he has acute insomnia."

"I see we are of one mind, at least on some aspects, but I believe you have made a mistake," Martha said coldly. "It's too early to diagnose anyone, especially Harry Potter."

"I've been doing this for a long time, Martha. I know what I'm doing."

oOo

The rest of Harry's day, after getting dressed, eating some dry toast and gulping down some pumpkin juice, was blissfully wonderful, and he had no clue how he'd managed that. He spent the day helping Augusta and Neville go shopping in Dover for some groceries. The older woman seemed to be reluctant to let him out of her sight.

He even slept that night, and he dreamt of flying, and of strawberries, and of murals on walls, and of a faceless stranger who held his hand all the way through it all.

* * *

Author's Note:

Remember when I said that thing about the story being visceral?

I don't know if you know this but there is a theory that after the abuse Harry received as a child, he went mad in his cupboard and created Hogwarts as a safe escape. While I recognize the sheer validity of this theory (and Jo does too, in an interview with Steven Kloves), I think it takes the magic out of the story altogether and would therefore prefer an alternative explanation for the horrors of Harry's youth.

Writing this chapter was very, very challenging, not least because of the content itself. We want to see Harry have a good life after the war; we want him to be happy, we want him to get everything he's always wanted. It was hard to withhold all that from him in this chapter, and I hated explaining how damaged he is.

Think of this chapter as rock bottom. Harry can only go up from here. I hope.

Hope you enjoyed this chapter, my vigilant reader. The next chapter will be released on Saturday.


	8. Chapter 8: Confrontations

Chapter 8: Confrontations

A week had passed since Miriam Strout's visit to the House of the Cliffs, and Harry was feeling better than ever. The Healer had left Harry several instructions, which included rest and a good diet, and sessions with Martha Meeker every two days.

The first of these sessions had been rough, because Martha had explained to him about Miriam's diagnosis.

First, she had said that this was the St. Mungo's diagnosis, and while it was noted in his St. Mungo's file, it was not yet in the her personal notes on him. She preferred to be absolutely sure before making a decision, while St. Mungo's was looking for a cure, not a solution. She had said, "I do not have any say in what St. Mungo's does or does not do, and they've handled far too many malpractice lawsuits for you to take this diagnosis seriously. While Miriam Strout is an extremely accomplished Healer, she is not a licensed psychologist or a psychiatrist, so she wouldn't know that some conditions are not curable, and that some have stigmas attached to them, and they are cases in which you would need a solution to adapt to everyday life. I think her early diagnosis is very irresponsible and unfair to you."

According to the seasoned Healer, he had a disorder called borderline personality disorder, which meant that he was afraid of failure and abandonment, and that he tended to be reckless when it came to his friendships and relationships. Miriam also said that he was bipolar, which meant that his mood would fluctuate suddenly from 'manic' to 'depressed' for no reason and was completed outside his control. Although Martha had suspected the conditions during their first meeting and while she understood where the Healer was coming from given his medical history, she had stated that, unfortunately, the Healer's pronouncement of both conditions would negate him from ever joining the Auror department, and that a St. Mungo's diagnosis in this direction was enough proof to rule out employment from the Ministry of Magic altogether.

Predictably, neither diagnosis elicited a productive response from Harry, and only after many angry outbursts, questions of his self-esteem, and repressed tears, had he finally submitted to her care and began talking civilly to her again.

The second session had gone better. Harry and Martha did a lot of talking about his feelings, about the Malfoys, particularly Narcissa, and about the Weasleys, particularly Ginny. She encouraged Harry to feel less vulnerable around both of them. While Harry had made his feelings about Ginny, and his reluctance to speak to her in future, she had assured him, "Everyone just wants what's best for you, Harry. And those who do are on your side."

The third session had been quite nice, actually. Martha had said, "Did you think about the challenge I gave you during our second meeting? About different jobs?"

Harry had, in fact, thought about this, and he said, "I came up with three."

"Well, that's was I asked you to do, so that's good," said Martha, laughing jovially.

Harry grinned, and Martha's heart soared. A smile was very good progress, and he said, "First, I thought, maybe trying for professional Quidditch."

"You'd be great," said Martha at once. "You love flying, right?"

"I do, yeah."

"But," said Martha slowly, "It's a very potentially dangerous career. I would advise you to keep flying, of course, but professional Quidditch might be challenging for someone like you, Harry."

"Okay," said Harry, a little downcast.

"And there's another thing with Quidditch," said Martha shrewdly. "Eventually, your body will expire, and you'll need to look for a new career. I think it would be better for you to find something that you can do for a long time."

Harry knew she was right, and didn't protest. Besides, he knew that Ginny was planning on pursuing Quidditch after Hogwarts and didn't want to cross paths with her for quite a while.

"I've been doing a lot of reading," said Harry quietly.

"For leisure?" asked Martha.

"Yeah," said Harry, brushing back his hair. "I've been reading a lot of Muggle literature over the past couple weeks. I never knew I liked reading so much."

"Why didn't you know you liked reading?"

"Because I was allowed to know anything," said Harry abrasively.

Martha stopped, not wanting to discuss Harry's childhood until he was really ready. She said, "What have you read?"

"Most of Tolkien and Lewis Carroll," Harry said, smirking.

"Did you like Lord of the Rings?" said Martha, smiling back at him.

"Eh," said Harry, "It was a little dry, but it was good."

"I could see that," said Martha. "Did you consider being a writer, then?"

"Yeah! How'd you know?"

"Because I think you'd be really good at it," said Martha encouragingly. "Mind, it's not a consistent paycheck, but I think you'd be great. An author's life is a very private life. Perfect for you, really."

"But I've never written," said Harry, a little morosely. "Like, outside essays for school."

"Well, neither have I," said Martha. "But my sister has introduced me for plenty of authors, and the advice they always gave me was simple."

"What was that?"

"If you want be a writer, then write."

Harry chuckled. "No other hints, then?"

"Not one," said Martha nodding. She continued, "Well, that's two of three. What's the last job you thought of doing?"

"I thought," said Harry, pausing, "Maybe, teaching."

Martha peered at him thoughtfully, and said, "Harry, have you considered returning to Hogwarts? To complete your education?"

Harry blinked. In all the mad rush of the past couple weeks, this was not a thought that had occurred to him. He said, "I haven't."

Martha continued to look at him, her face softening, and said, "I don't think you should."

"I didn't want to," said Harry quietly.

"Because of the attention?"

Harry looked directly into Martha Meeker's eyes and nodded.

"Have you considered the other European schools?" asked Martha. "Beauxbatons or Durmstrang, that is?"

"No," said Harry, thinking of Viktor Krum and Fleur Delacour. "I can't see myself at Durmstrang. Or Beauxbatons."

"I see," said Martha. An odd look had crossed her face. She said, "Have you talked with anyone about continuing your education?"

"No," said Harry. "Who would I talk to?"

"Minerva McGonagall," said Martha in a flash. "I was in Ravenclaw, so I discussed things with Filius Flitwick, but Minerva would be a great advisor in this case."

Harry nodded, looking a bit resigned.

"Harry, you need direction. Forget everything that Miriam said about you, you need direction and goals, and a new start. I want you to finish your education, because I think it will help provide you with a new drive to live on. I think you just need a little push in the right direction, and I'm concerned that the world has been pushing you away for far too long. I want what everyone wants for you: happiness; and I think that you will be happy someday."

Harry looked at her in silence, but his eyes were alight with a manic glow she'd never seen before. If one thing was certain, they were making progress.

oOo

Harry Apparated into the foyer of the House of the Cliffs, and he almost immediately heard the sound of someone banging loudly on the door. Neville skidded across the tile from the kitchen, looking alarmed. Clearly Augusta was doing some shopping in town, or she would be there, too. Neville looked out the peephole and dropped a quiet, "Fuck."

He gestured to Harry to go upstairs, and Harry obliged, thinking it was the press, and that they'd finally found him. He hid on the landing, and heard the door open with a crash below.

"HARRY POTTER! GET OUT HERE AND TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK YOU DID TO MY SISTER!"

Harry had never heard Ron shout like that. Clearly Ginny had spun him a long story about Harry's rejection of her, and, well, hell hath no fury like a brother scorned.

"Ron," said Neville shakily, unconvincingly. "Harry's not here. He went to see Martha Meeker this morning."

But before Neville had even finished the lie, Harry heard Ron bellow, "HOMENUM REVELIO!"

Harry felt a terrible swooping sensation slide over him, followed by Ron's whoop of incandescent rage. Harry heard Ron begin to thunder up the staircase towards him, shouting "YOU JUST WAIT, POTTER, YOU ARSE, UNTIL I GET MY…"

But he was broken off by Neville's roar of a spell that bounced off the hall to Harry's ears.

"PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!"

Ron halted on the stairs, rigid as a board, falling backwards and banging down the steps. He came to rest at Neville's feet just as Hermione burst into the room, breathless and red in the face. Neville smiled evilly down at Ron, and he said, "I've wanted to do that one of you for years."

Hermione, who was looking concerned at the figure sprawled on the floor that was her boyfriend, couldn't help but suppress a giggle at Neville, who smirked back at her. Harry peeked out from the upstairs landing down at them, and hesitantly made his made way down.

Neville said, "Well, I think we'll got have a chat in the library, shall we?"

Hermione waved her wand, quietly saying, "Locomotor Ron."

Ron floated a meter up from the ground, and Hermione gently floated him into the library. When they got into the room she leaned him up against a bookcase, and then sat down next to him, holding his rigid hand. Neville and Harry sat down opposite them.

Harry wasn't sure which was more unnerving: having a livid Ron advancing on him, or having a stationary Ron looking merely beside himself with anger.

Regardless, Neville and Hermione talked for nearly 20 minutes while Harry sat silent. They supplied each other with Harry's story, and Harry realized that he'd hardly had any time to himself over the past couple weeks. He had nearly always been with Neville or Augusta.

A few times, they asked him to confirm what they'd said, but otherwise they told a completely accurate story to the paralyzed Ron.

Not until nearly a half hour later, after the color had drained from Ron's face, did Neville lift the enchantment. Ron collapsed onto the floor, clutching Hermione's hand. He said, "But what about Ginny?"

"Ginny told you that Harry had abandoned her," said Hermione calmly. "But that's not what happened, is it, Harry?"

Harry shook his head, and said, very quietly, "I never meant to hurt her, Ron."

"Like hell you didn't," spat Ron.

"I really didn't," said Harry.

The pair looked at each other for a long time and Ron said, "I… I know, mate. I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

"No, it's not," said Ron apologetically. "Do you even know how much shit the Prophet gave the Ministry for rejecting you as an Auror. It's total dragon dung what they did to you, and you're damn lucky the press haven't found you yet. They saw you going to visit Malfoy Manor, too."

"Which, personally, is my greater concern," said Hermione. "Harry, the Malfoys?"

"All they want is what's best for me," Harry replied, intoning Martha's words.

"Dragonshit. The Malfoys only want what's best for themselves," said Ron with a grimace.

"Why can't what they want for themselves be what's best for me?"

Ron looked thunderstruck again, and Neville looked comically shocked. Hermione was giving Harry a look of deep uncertainty.

"No, I'm serious," said Harry, taking advantage of their surprise. "They told me that I'm as good as family because I'm the heir to the Blacks. And it felt like I was welcome there, you know. Maybe a little bit more family is okay for me."

Ron and Neville still looked very concerned, but Hermione was giving Harry a look that he couldn't place. It was almost motherly, which felt strange, coming from her.

"Of course, Harry," she said, before the other two could say anything else. "You're right. Maybe the Malfoys have changed how they feel about you."

"No, Hermione, listen to yourself," said Ron. "People don't just change on a sickle like that."

Neville looked from Ron to Hermione and back again, and then to Harry, who was looking particularly resigned. Obviously he hadn't wanted to tell them about the Malfoys.

Neville said, "I think Harry's right."

Ron looked at him furiously, and then shot a look at Harry, who didn't even recoil. Ron gazed at him for a long while, and then said, "Whatever, mate. It's your decision. I can't support you on this one, but…"

"And why not?" said Hermione, crossing her arms, but Ron sent her a warning glance.

Harry thought he knew why they were being so cryptic. Ron was an Auror now. He said, suddenly, "Hermione, I've got a question for you."

Hermione, who had more or less been preparing for the usual jousting match with Ron, turned and looked at Harry concertedly. She said, "What's wrong, Harry?"

"Are you returning to Hogwarts next term?"

Everyone looked at him, and Hermione said, "Yes. I am planning on it. Why?"

Neville cut in, "I was finishing up my education too."

Ron remained silent. The Ministry had other plans for him, apparently.

"Well, I was talking to Martha today, and she said that if I wanted to be… what you suggested I be, Hermione, that I'd have to finish my education," said Harry, not missing the satisfied look that flitted across Hermione's face. "But she told me I shouldn't go back to Hogwarts because of all the attention."

Hermione looked thoughtfully at him, and said, "I think I'd have to agree. If not Hogwarts, where would you go?"

"I was thinking about talking to Professor McGonagall about it," said Harry quietly.

Hermione said, "That's a very good idea, Harry. I've read about there being old exchange systems established before the war, and apprenticeships abroad. Maybe she knows about some of those opportunities. In fact, I'd go with you to talk to her if you like. I think a year abroad would be fascinating."

Neville cleared his throat, "Actually, Professor Sprout sent me a letter last week, recommending that I apply for the Sonoran Institute of Herbology in America for next year, instead of returning to Hogwarts. It was where she studied, and she told me she'd write a letter of recommendation for me to go there. She said it was part of the American Exchange, or something."

"Yes, that's right, the American Exchange," said Hermione enthusiastically. "I've read about that one. It's probably the most well-known of the exchange programs, but, well, because of the war, no one's gone on it for years. Decades, even."

"Do you think I have a chance at that?" said Harry.

"Mate, give it a rest. You're Harry Potter," said Ron savagely.

"Ron," Hermione said, giving him a careful look. He was being very strange. He had a look of having been hardened somehow, far from the lanky, awkward teenage wizard he once was.

Neville seized the opportunity to speak, and said, "How was Australia, Hermione?"

"Oh," said Hermione. "It was fine. My parents were relatively easy to find; we'd always wanted to go to Australia, and my mum's family lives in Adelaide, so I knew where to look. They weren't entirely happy with me when they'd found out what I'd done, once I'd lifted the enchantment, but they were happy to hear that you're all right, and that we defeated Voldemort. The thing is… They're happy in Australia. My mum and dad have built up a great clientele in Adelaide, and we talked it over, and they decided to stay there. They even reconnected with my mum's family, who hadn't known they were living there for almost a year."

"And how're things at the Burrow?" said Harry quietly, not looking at Ron.

"Why don't you go ask us yourself?" said Ron smoothly.

"Well, that'd be obvious, wouldn't it?" said Neville coolly. "Look at the reaction you had to what your sister said. If I were Harry, I wouldn't be keen on going over there either."

Ron looked furiously at Neville, and then sighed and looked down in spite of himself. He looked at Harry and said, "I'm sorry mate. I shouldn't have barged in like this. I just… You've been so… quiet these last few weeks. I'm really, well, I'm really scared and concerned for you. We all are."

"Agreed," said Hermione. Neville nodded.

Harry looked at each one of them in turn, and said, "Thanks."

After quite a few moments of silence, Hermione said, "Well, now that's settled, I think we should be off. Harry, you should write to McGonagall. See if you can't meet with her next week or something."

Ron looked from Hermione to Harry and said, "Keep in touch, mate, please? I don't want to have to charge in like a bull every time we get together."

"Right," said Harry. "I'll do my best."

After hugs and waves goodbye, Ron and Hermione departed. Neville turned to Harry and said, "Well, I need to go tend to the Mimubulus Mimbeltonia. It starts giving me attitude when I don't give it attention on a daily basis."

Harry nodded. He raised his own wand, and said, "Accio."

Parchment, quill, and ink flew from the other room into the library, and Harry began to work on a letter to McGonagall.

_Dear Professor McGonagall,_

_Could we please meet to discuss completing my education soon?_

_Harry_

He knew it was simple, but what else did he have to say? It wasn't like she didn't expect to hear from him, especially after reading the Prophet.

He went and found Terence roosting on a tree in the garden in the late afternoon sunlight, and said, "Hey, buddy, I have a job for you."

The owl turned and looked at him, happy for the opportunity to spread its wings, and held out its leg proudly. Harry attached the let to his owl, and then, in a rush of wings, the bird took to the skies like a great paper airplane.

Harry found himself envious of the bird. He missed flying. He watched Terence disappear into the sky, and then approached Neville in the garden, who was now cuddling with the giant blistering cactus. Harry couldn't help but laugh, and it was the first real laugh he'd had in quite a while.

* * *

Author's Note:

I'm really sorry for the delay in getting this to you. Today I got food poisoning. If you haven't tried food poisoning before, you should definitely avoid it at all costs.

That last chapter got some mixed reviews, and there's only one thing that I want to say. I received some criticism (welcomed, of course) from professionals in psychology that adamantly disagreed with "my" approach to diagnosing Harry. I would advise you as readers to consider (though I'm sure many of you already do) that while a certain character may act in a specific way (such as Miriam Strout's early diagnosis), the author's perspective and their intention may be different and they may want to portray a flaw in a character. An author may not always be speaking through a character. As Robert Frost said, "There's no deathwish in stopping by woods in a snowy evening."

One of the challenges of writing fanfiction is maintaining continuity while posting chapters in sequential order, and allowing for tension to build in your readers between chapters. It can be difficult to gauge how to build and release at times, and, well, no great work was ever created by playing it safe.

That being said, I still welcome your criticisms, and I am delighted to see that people are at least taking the time to care enough to tell me that I'm a terrible person in regards to this project. It warms my heart to know that you care so much that you want to protect and defend the characters you hold dear. Know that I have Harry's best interests in mind, and over the next few chapters, you all are in for a treat.

Hope you all enjoyed this chapter. Writing Ron was a challenge for me, I'll admit, but I think I got there in the end.

I'd like to think you're all enjoying yourselves thus far.

TG


	9. Chapter 9: The American Exchange

Chapter 9: The American Exchange

Minerva McGonagall's response to Harry's letter arrived the next evening. Harry had been reading Tolkien's "The Two Towers" when he'd heard a rapping on the window of the library, and he'd looked up to see Terence perched outside, a letter in its beak. Harry marked his place and strode over to the window, allowing the bird to flutter into the room and regally hold the letter out to him.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_Please come to my residence in Hogsmeade, the Courtain Cottage, tomorrow afternoon for tea and biscuits at 1:30. You may come through the Floo Network. I would be more than happy to discuss your options should you want to complete your magical education._

_Best,_

_M. McGonigall_

Harry reread the letter twice. He'd never known that McGonagall had lived anywhere but Hogwarts, but, then again, he'd not known anything of his teachers' whereabouts during the summers before. He looked at the owl as though trying to glean an answer from its beady eyes, but it merely clicked its beak, and eyed him carefully. Harry pulled an owl treat out of his pocket and threw it to the bird, saying, "Job well done."

Harry thought about tomorrow, and realized that he had an appointment at noon with Martha. That'd work, wouldn't it? Meet with Martha, then with McGonagall?

Harry heard a clatter come from the kitchen and straightened up. He poked his head into the kitchen from the library, and noticing the soup all over the floor and Neville looking at the ceiling with an expression of utmost exasperation, Harry said, "All right there, Neville?"

Neville pulled out his wand, pointed in sharply at the floor and said, "Scourgify."

The soup vanished. He turned to Harry and said, "I'm just all right, Harry. I'm going down to the town for a bite to eat; do you want to come along?"

"Yeah, sure," said Harry.

They departed from the House on the Cliffs a few minutes later, and own the way Harry filled Neville in concerning Minerva McGonagall's response to his letter. Neville made no comment other than the occasional nod. When Harry had finished, he asked, "Are you going to ask her about the American Exchange?"

"I guess so," said Harry. "I've never been to America."

"Neither have I, but my great aunt Edna does. She's always been a bit of a joke in the family. She's a little cuckoo, but she's one of the top American magical historians. The last time she was here, she told everyone about how one of the American Presidents Imperiused one of the Russian leaders into ending WWII. Everyone thought it was a joke, but, well, she's never been wrong yet."

"What?"

"Well, the thing is," said Neville. "The Americans are strange about magic. They've kind of gone for a "hiding in plain sight" thing. Aunt Edna always said that a lot of famous American citizens were wizards and witches, and they implicitly used magic to get famous. She used to go on and on about someone of the amazing things that American wizards and witches have done."

"Like what?"

"I dunno, Harry. The last time she was here I was twelve."

"Oh," said Harry thoughtfully. America sounded amazing to him.

They got to one of the pubs that they frequented often and sidled into a booth towards the back. The waitress came by and said, "The usual, laddies?"

They nodded and she departed. Neville looked around at the quiet pub and said, "Man, I hope America's different, you know? It's so quiet here."

"Maybe," said Harry absentmindedly. He was looking at the television in the corner, which was playing a sports game to which no one was paying any attention. A few drinks later, and neither he nor Neville had any care in the world.

oOo

Harry got up the next day, and despite the late, alcohol-soaked night he'd had with Neville, he felt refreshed and ready to meet with Martha Meeker. He showered, dressed, and went downstairs to grab a slice of toast when he met Augusta sitting at the kitchen table, drinking her morning coffee and gazing at him imperiously from behind her Daily Prophet.

"Good morning, Harry," she said, idly turning a page of her Prophet. She looked directly at him. "You seem to have quite the evening last night."

Harry looked at the cover of the Prophet in her hands, and was alarmed to see an image of himself and Neville sitting in the pub from last night, accompanied by the headline: _HARRY POTTER SIGHTED IN DOVER: THE TRUTH ABOUT THE CHOSEN ONE_.

Harry felt his stomach turn over unpleasantly. What had he said? What had they done?

Augusta, still smiling, said, "Now, can you kindly tell me what this is about this prophecy? The one made by Sibyl Trelawney?"

And then Harry remembered: he had finally explained to Neville about the prophecy and the reason that Voldemort went after him, about how it had almost had been Neville instead of him. He had finally told Neville everything Dumbledore had confided in him and now the Prophet had it, and…

Augusta cleared her throat, and Harry seemed to come out of his trance. She said, "Look, Harry. Rita Skeeter was apparently in that pub last night, and she heard every bit of it. When were you planning on telling us? Why didn't you tell Neville before?"

"Dumbledore made me swear that I wouldn't," mumbled Harry, clearly distressed.

"I see," said Augusta. She set the paper down and stood up, giving him a stern look. "I can't control who you are or what you do, Harry, but you need to be more careful with that sort of sensitive information, especially when you're out in public. You're really quite lucky that this house is Unplottable and they don't actually know that you're here; otherwise they'd be banging on the doors."

"I know, Augusta," said Harry, looking shamefully at the floor.

"I must thank you, though," said Augusta. "Of all the sensitive information that you could've talked about, you gave the public answers to questions that we've been burning to know for years."

Harry looked back up at her, and said, "You're not mad?"

"No," said Augusta. "At least, not at you."

Harry shuffled uncomfortably, knowing she was angry at Dumbledore for keeping her from the truth, and probably furious at the media for chasing him around the country. He said, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, Harry," chirped Augusta. "Now I know why Bellatrix Lestrange went after my son. Now I know why you and Neville went to the Department of Mysteries. I remain as proud of Frank, Alice, and Neville as I ever was. Don't be sorry for something so outside your control."

oOo

When Harry Apparated into Martha Meeker's study, he was met with a Martha who was stiff and cross and certainly not the usual warm demeanor to which he had become accustomed. A copy of the Daily Prophet was sitting on her desk. When Harry opened his mouth to speak, she raised a hand.

"I'm very disappointed in this article," she said. "It's a little too invasive for my tastes."

Harry hesitated.

"I've already written to the Prophet and to my sister about having it cease print. But the damage has been done, and people won't read corrections," Martha huffed.

"Am I in trouble?"

She looked at him with a curious expression. "Why would you be in trouble, Harry?"

Harry was nonplussed, and he replied, "Aren't you mad at me? Disappointed in me?"

"Outside of you consuming alcohol in the local pub, which was merely irresponsible of you, no, Harry, I am neither disappointed nor angry with you," said Martha. "I am, however, furious with the press. I know you are the biggest enigma and celebrity in the country at the moment, but that was a private conversation, and the only reason they'll get out of a lawsuit is because you were intoxicated. The Prophet is supposed to present the Wizarding community with news, not spy on you when you're out with a friend. This is exactly the reason why I don't get along with my sister."

Harry said, "Yeah, I guess."

"No, Harry, this is important. Please be more careful," said Martha, a little more urgently. "The media will do anything for a story. They draw lines and connect the dots and sometimes just make things up. The credibility of the Daily Prophet has certainly been under fire the last few years, and I'm so entirely happy that they've been derided by much of the magical community as nothing more than a gossiping tabloid; however, their readership is still huge, and while there was nothing damaging in the article, it could've been far worse."

"I know," said Harry meekly. "It's not going to happen again."

Martha softened, and said, "Look, Harry. That information was going to come out into the open one way or another. Either you were going to say it freely or it was going to be released into public knowledge through the Death Eater Trials next week."

"Wait," said Harry, surprised. "The Death Eater trials are next week?"

"Yes, the Death Eater Trials begin next week, on the first of July. The Wizengamot has been considering how it would be best to receive testimony from you, and collectively we have decided that the easiest way to get the facts, all the facts, is to have you go on record with the full story of your childhood, your years of studying at Hogwarts, and your defeat of Voldemort over the previous year once, and then making reference during the trial of each Death Eater. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded.

"Veritaserum will be administered, to ensure complete honesty. Would you agree to that?"

Harry looked at Martha for a long time, and then nodded again.

"We have requested the same treatment for Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger, for obvious reasons," said Martha. "You, Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger will be expected to stay for the remainder of testimony."

Harry said, "Since I have to be there the whole time, will I be able to supply additional testimony during certain cases?"

"If the court deems it prudent, I don't see why not," said Martha. "But, I repeat, you will be expected to stay for all cases. Are you prepared to do so?"

"I think so," said Harry. There were certainly some Death Eaters who deserved to be locked away."

Martha paused for a long while, and then very quietly said, "There will be dementors in the courtroom."

Harry looked at the floor. He should have realized that there would be dementors present. "Will I be able to cast a patronus?"

"I'm lobbying for it," said Martha softly. "And I think I'll be able to convince them of it, so, yes, probably. Many members of the Wizengamot are lobbying for the removal of the dementors from ministry custody altogether, to be quite honest, but that motion hasn't passed yet."

"Why not?"

"Because there are some members of the Wizengamot who feel that some people deserve the dementors," said Martha cryptically.

Harry nodded. He didn't know how to feel either way about that.

"Have you met with Malfoys since we first discussed it?" said Martha swiftly.

"Only once," said Harry.

"Meet with them again if you can, Harry. If they really are a part of your family now, you need to plan their argument against imprisonment with them."

Harry gave her a searching look.

"You need to protect those who care about you as much as they protect you," said Martha. "That's all I'm saying."

Harry looked at her again and nodded.

"Harry," said Martha thoughtfully. "I don't think there's anything wrong with you. I think you've just been through the ordeal of a lifetime, and you need direction to recover."

"I'm meeting with Professor McGonagall after this."

"Are you?" asked Martha, raising her eyebrows.

"I sent her an owl about finishing my education," said Harry.

"I'm glad you took my advice," said Martha.

"I'm thinking about going on the American Exchange," said Harry quickly.

Martha sat back in her chair, looking satisfied. "I think that's an excellent idea. You need to complete your education, and the country needs to leave you alone. I think it's a very good idea to study abroad."

"You do?"

"Certainly!" said Martha. "Had I the chance, I would've taken it. I know Athene studied in America, and, well, you know how brilliant she is."

"Yeah," said Harry.

"When is your appointment with Minerva?"

"1:30," said Harry.

"Oh, dear, we're over time already. It's 1:12," said Martha. "You ought to get going. She won't like it if you're late."

"Will we meet before the trials?"

"Yes, we have another appointment," said Martha, eyeing the calendar on her wall. "We'll discuss some of the more tedious details of the trials, then."

"Thank you, Martha," said Harry.

"All in a day's work," said Martha.

And with a small smile, he Disapparated.

oOo

A few minutes later, the fire in Courtain Cottage glowed the fiercest emerald, and Harry stepped out of it, find himself face to face with Minerva McGonagall, who was wearing a Muggle outfit and a worn expression.

They were in McGonagall's study, a room lined with birdcages and bookshelves. On the other end of the room, there was a window with a small patch of flourishing rose bushes framing a view of the Hogsmeade High Street and Hogwarts in the distance.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Potter," said McGonagall. She indicated one of the sturdy wooden benches with cushions on them around delightful little tea set perched on the coffee table. "Have a seat."

Harry took the seat, and the tea set scuttled towards him across the table like a giant, silvery crab. The teapot said to him in a tinny voice, "How would you like your tea, sir?"

Harry look at the tea set incredulously, and then at McGonagall, and said, "I'll have it with sugar and lemon."

The tea set busied itself with making his tea, and McGonagall said, "I do save the best pieces of magic for myself, Mr. Potter. The Fortune Tea Set is a unique piece of extremely complex magic, and I hardly ever get the opportunity to use it. I was quite pleased to get your owl."

"Yeah," said Harry, still looking at the tea set, which was fascinating him. Minerva noticed that he looked both happier and healthier than he had after the Battle of Hogwarts, and this pleased her.

McGonagall gave him a curious look. "I never thought you would be so intrigued by Transfiguration, Potter. You were always most interested in Defense Against the Dark Arts while at Hogwarts."

"I always liked Transfiguration, Professor," said Harry softly.

"Quite true, I suppose. Filius always thought you enjoyed charms as well."

"Professor," Harry said, looking up at her and fixing her with an inquisitive gaze. "I'd like to finish my education, but I don't think it would be a good idea to do it at Hogwarts."

She looked at him seriously. "I quite agree, Mr. Potter. I think that the student body at Hogwarts would not give you the space that you need to have in order to wrap things up. Hogwarts would be every challenging for you."

"A lot happened there."

McGonagall paused in remembrance. "But it will always be your home. I stand by my statements, Potter. Hogwarts will always welcome you."

"And that's what I wanted to ask you about, Professor," said Harry. "Hermione says that I should… That I should become a teacher."

McGonagall considered him for a long period of silence.

"Have a biscuit, Potter."

"What?"

"Have a biscuit."

As thought it was listening to the conversation, the Fortune Tea Set offered Harry a cup and a biscuit on a saucer, which he took without further comment. He nibbled on the biscuit and sipped his tea gently. McGonagall breathed out heavily and said, "Potter, did anyone ever tell you about how your year at Hogwarts did on their O.W.L.'s? Specifically, their Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.'s?"

"No," said Harry. "I know Ron and Hermione both got 'Exceeds Expectations'."

"Well," said McGonagall. "Every single person that was in the group known as Dumbledore's Army either got an 'Outstanding' or an 'Exceeds Expectations', Potter, which an achievement of which you should be very proud."

Harry did indeed feel a rush of pride as memories of long hours of practice in the Room of Requirement flooded his mind. He couldn't help but smile at the thought of watching his peers leap in steps and bounds through the secret organization.

"I think, Mr. Potter," said McGonagall warmly, "that you would make an excellent teacher."

"You do?"

"Yes, Potter, I do," McGonagall stated. "The tutelage of your peers in Defense Against the Dark Arts produced astounding results, and if you can impress your peers to the point of recognizing you as a mentor, imagine what you can do with those that already respect you. You're young, and certainly not an expert yet in any particular field, but I know of several international programs that would bring you to the level of expertise necessary for hire at Hogwarts."

Harry nodded, looking humbled by her comments. He said, "Hermione and Neville and I have been talking about it, and Neville's thinking about going on something called…"

"The American Exchange?" said Professor McGonagall smoothly.

"Yeah," said Harry, nonplussed.

"Potter, it was recommended to me that I reinstate the American Exchange now that the war is over. I am happy to say that I have succeeded in convincing many of my colleagues in America that it is time to accept new students and rebuild magical international cooperation. The American Exchange will accept several students to schools there from Hogwarts each year, and, after this year, they may choose to send their students to Hogwarts as well.

"The application process for the Exchange is tedious, but it is worth it. While each school has their individual requirements. The general application requires character and academic references, as well as an essay and O.W.L. grades.

"There are 11 different magical schools you may choose from to attend for one full year. You may choose from any of the ten Institutes of Magic, or you may choose to apply to the American Sorcerer's Academy in New York City, though I must warn you that no British witch or wizard has been accepted by the American Sorcerer's Academy in over 50 years.

McGonagall drew breath, and then continued, "The ten Institutes of Magic are as follows, in no particular order: the Salem Witches' Institute, which is located in Boston, Massachusetts; the Deering Wizards' Institute, in Miami, Florida; the Bolotin Healers' Institute in Chicago, Illinois; the Jefferson Defense Institute in Washington, D.C.; the Laveau Potioneering Insitute in New Orleans, Lousiana; the Sonoran Herbology Institute in Tucson, Arizona; the Benchley Magizoology Institute in San Diego, California; the Hitchcock Charms Institute in Los Angeles, California; the Pacific Transfiguration Institute in Portland, Oregon; and the Reliant Magical Technology Institute in Houston, Texas. Each school has a concentration based on the industries present in that area of the country.

"American students' magical educations last three to five years, and they start when they are 14 or 15 years old. While the American Sorcerer's Academy requires three years of intensive study exclusively in New York, students in the ten Institutes of Magic are encourages to study at four or five different school over the course of their education."

Harry was looking at McGonagall intently. It was a lot to take in. He said, "What do you think I should do?"

"Well," said McGonagall. "I know that Mr. Longbottom is planning on attending the Sonoran Herbology Institute, and I believe that if Ms. Granger applies she will want to go to the America Sorcerer's Academy. I think that you should consider one of three schools: the Pacific Transfiguration Institute, the Hitchcock Charms Institute, or the Jefferson Defense Institute."

He gave her another searching look, and McGonagall set down her tea saucer. "You see, to be quite honest, Mr. Potter, it has been very challenging to find a suitable replacement for what was my position at Hogwarts, and being that I am now the Headmistress, I must find someone to take over the Transfiguration department. My colleagues in the Transfiguration community are either underqualified or busy with their own experiments. I would encourage you to attend the Pacific Transfiguration Institute because I've heard wonderful things about their programs, and after you complete your education, I will promise to take you as my personal apprentice and hire you as Transfiguration Teacher at Hogwarts."

Harry looked at her incredulously. He blubbered, "You think I'd be good enough to replace you?"

"Perhaps once you've finished your education, you may be," said McGonagall smoothly. "And I will certainly be there to help if you need it."

Harry sipped his tea, a calculating, doubtful expression on his face. He said, "Do I have to decide now?"

"No, but they need applications by August 1st," said McGonagall. "The Exchange begins on September 1st, and lasts a full year, which means you spend a full year in America."

"Okay," said Harry. "Can you get me whatever I need to do this?"

"Certainly, but I rather think you have bigger things on your plate," said McGonagall. "Being that the Death Eater Trials are next week, you should be preparing to testify. They'll want to hear everything."

"Will you be there?"

"Yes," said McGonagall. "I was recently appointed to the Wizengamot. I will be there."

Harry nodded and drained his tea. He said, "How is Hogwarts doing?"

"The grounds have been evacuated while the castle continues to rebuild itself. I'm overseeing the process, and it's truly fascinating," said McGonagall. "I think there may be an odd malfunction in the enchantments. Several wings of the castle have been under relentless revision, and it seems that the castle is rather a perfectionist when it comes to its own repair. I think it may be difficult to recognize the castle when it is finished."

"Hmm," said Harry nonchalantly. He set his tea saucer down, and stood up, walking towards the fireplace.

McGonagall stood up as well. "Thank you for coming and visiting, Mr. Potter. I hope that I helped you find your way. Albus was always so much better at this than I ever was."

"It was wonderful, Professor."

"Mr. Potter," said McGonagall. "I think it may be quite possible that we may be colleagues in the future, and my colleagues call me Minerva."

"No, Professor," chuckled Harry, grabbing a handful of Floo powder and turning to leave. "You'll always be Professor McGonagall to me."

oOo

Harry stepped out of the Floo and into the sitting room of the House on the Cliffs. He went upstairs, where he met Neville on the landing.

"Hullo, Harry."

"Hullo, Neville."

A moment of silence seemed to stretch like taffy between them.

"Did you see the Prophet?" said Harry casually.

"Gran and I had a row about it this morning," she said that drinking in that Muggle pub was downright irresponsible, and that I should've been more…"

"It's okay, Neville."

"What?"

"Neville," said Harry. "No one's hurt. No one believes the Prophet anymore."

"I suppose that's true," said Neville vaguely.

Harry nodded and walked to his room. He closed the door and crossed the room to sit on the bed. He looked around the room and out through the window, dreaming of America and studying abroad.

He never dreamed he'd be a Transfiguration teacher. He tried to imagine himself as strict as McGonagall was, but found this to be quite difficult. He cast a look over the room again, and his eyes came to rest on the bedside cabinet, where on it sat a wand that he'd not used for well over a month. It was Draco Malfoy's wand, and Harry suddenly realized that Draco had been wandless for quite a while now.

Harry made up his mind in second, and pulled of his clothes, he put the clothes the Draco had allowed him to borrow back on, hastily changed the color from green to grey, snatched up Draco's wand, and Disapparated.

oOo

Harry appeared in front of Malfoy Manor, greeted by the gate's somewhat more feeble grunt.

"State your purpose!"

"Umm… I'm here to bring Draco Malfoy back his wand. I'm Harry…"

But before he could finish his name, the gates swung open and admitted him. He rushed towards the house, and he was halfway there when the front doors swung open, revealing a startled Narcissa Malfoy.

"Harry," she said, descending the front steps. "To what can I owe the pleasure?"

Harry stopped and met her. "I'm actually wanting to talk to Mal… Draco. I've had his wand since… Well, I've had it for a long time."

Narcissa gave him a puzzled look, and she put her arm around him and walked him inside. "Draco spends most of his time locked away in his room nowadays, Harry. I haven't seen him since breakfast. Would you like me to escort you to his bedroom?"

"No, I think I can find it," said Harry, not saying that he'd been there before. Narcissa looked at him curiously and departed in the direction of the library.

Harry followed the path up the stairs in the east wing to what he thought was Draco's bedroom. He found the bathroom that he'd changed in on his last visit closed and across from it, the door ajar, was Draco's room.

The last time Harry had been in here, he'd not gotten a good look. Now that he had the liberty to take a long peek around, he couldn't help but notice that the room was far too neat and orderly for his tastes. It was just too much, from the opulence of the bed sheets to the elegant of the bookshelves and the furniture.

"Potter?"

Harry, who was still silently admiring the room, turned to find Draco standing on the threshold to his own room, steam rising out of the bathroom behind him. He was wearing an emerald bathrobe that exposed his chest freely, and the fact that his skin was pink from the temperature of the shower he had obviously just taken made the long, thin, white scars clearly visible from across the room.

Harry froze, both from the shock of realizing he was interrupting Draco Malfoy's shower and the guilt of realizing how he had received those scars on his chest.

Draco looked down at his own chest and sighed. "I suppose I should thank you for this, then? My perfect skin tainted again on account of dark magic. Kudos, Potter."

Harry quietly said, "I'm sorry, Draco."

Draco looked coldly at Harry and said, "No, Potter. It's Malfoy."

Harry looked down at the floor, feeling ashamed and rejected.

"But I deserved what I got."

Harry looked up at Malfoy again, but he had strode across the room past Harry to the closet, and was now considering an outfit. The Dark Mark, though now faded and ugly, was barely visible when he raised his left hand and the sleeve feel back. Noticing that Harry was staring again, Draco shut the door to the closet with a snap, and left Harry alone.

A few moments of silences passed, in which Harry wondered whether or not he should just leave. Then the door to the closet clicked open, and a tired Draco emerged, wearing a casual outfit. He looked wistfully at Harry and scowled, "I thought you would've left, Potter. Maybe even hoped you had. Noble as ever, aren't you?"

Harry didn't know what to say. Draco tossed himself onto the bed, and crossed his arms. He huffed, "Well, Potter, there must be a reason you decided to come unannounced again. What is it this time?"

Harry hesitated, wondering if it was a good idea to give Draco back his wand after all. Then he moved forward a meter or so and held out his hand, which had Draco's wand serenely sitting in it.

At once, Draco's eyes went very wide, and he looked longingly at the wand in Harry's hand as though willing it wordless into his own. He swung his legs over the bed and looked up at Harry with a look of manic excitement Harry had never seen before.

Draco said, "My wand! You've no idea how fucking hard it's been, Potter, having to live like a Muggle for the past six weeks!"

"I have an inkling," said Harry grimly, thinking of life at Privet Drive.

He gave the wand to Draco, and he looked happier that Harry had ever seen him, and then he looked at Harry critically and said, "Is that it? You're just going to give me back my wand?"

"Yeah," said Harry simply.

"What's the catch, Potter?" said Malfoy.

"There's no catch, Malfoy," said Harry. "It's yours. You should have it."

Malfoy was examining his wand carefully in the light coming in from the windows. "Thank you, Potter. I can't believe I'm saying it, but thank you."

"You're welcome," said Harry dangerously. "Draco."

Draco looked at him poisonously again. "I thought I told you…"

"But I'm not going to listen, Draco," said Harry stonily. "You mum wants a new start, right? Well, so do I, and that's not going to happen if we keeping hating each other."

Draco eyed him suspiciously. He said, "I want a new start to, Potter, but I don't see how that's going to happen. Not like I'm a welcome member of society with this thing on my arm."

And he flashed the Dark Mark. It was hideous and falling out in chunks. Harry chose to look at Draco's face, and said, "I understand."

"No, you don't, you prick," said Malfoy, his voice full of loathing. "Everyone's worshipping you, the whole country out to be your best pal."

"But I don't want any of it," said Harry angrily. "I don't want the attention. I don't want the glory or anything. All I've ever wanted was to be normal."

Draco looked incredulously at him and said, "What are you, insane? You'd have some much power, so much influence. I'd do anything for that!"

But he cowered under the look Harry gave him next, and seemed to shrink back onto the bed.

Harry said, "No, Draco, you wouldn't. You wouldn't kill Dumbledore, and you wouldn't turn me in to the Death Eaters. You say you want power, but I don't think you like how much responsibility comes with the amount of power you'd like."

Draco, quivering, defiantly said, "What's it to you, Potter? Why do you care?"

"Besides your parents, Draco, I might be the only one in the world who cares about you at all anymore," said Harry harshly.

Draco paled, looking thunderstruck. He said, "Fuck, Potter. You can be vicious when you reall want to."

"That's rich, coming from you," said Harry, giving Draco a dark grin.

"I suppose so," said Malfoy. "What are you going to do, Potter?"

"Why do you want to know?" said Harry mutedly.

"Because," said Malfoy stubbornly.

Harry sighed. "Have you ever heard of the American Exchange, Draco?"

Malfoy shook his head. Harry proceeded to explain all about the Exchange. Harry didn't realize it, but as Draco became more and more intrigued about completing his education in America, Harry might as well have been digging his own grave.

* * *

Author's Note:

First I would like to say that I am deeply sorry for falling so far behind on chapter release dates. I think I made a mistake somewhere about two weeks ago and it's been snowballing ever since. I will do my best to get new material to you in future on schedule, though I'm sure that you will understand that chapters like this one take time to perfect, and putting out chapters early (as seen in the pivotal mistakes in chapter seven) is, at best, unwise.

I hope you all are enjoying the story thus far. It won't be long until we go to America, I promise. I'm trying to have the story done before school starts, but we'll see how that goes.

I have loved reading and responding to your reviews, and I appreciate knowing that I have readers who are attentive and wonderful.

Next chapter to be released on Thursday!

-TG


	10. Chapter 10: The Death Eater Trials

Chapter 10: The Death Eater Trials

It was July 1st, 1998, and Harry awoke with a start shortly after midnight. A week had passed since Harry had visited Malfoy Manor and visited with the Malfoys. Before leaving the Malfoy residence, Harry had been stopped by Lucius and a withering man named William Flemish, whom Harry had been told was the Malfoys' lawyer and would be representing them at the Ministry. After a short conversation concerning their tactics in court, Harry had been on his way.

He had since met with Martha, who had assured him, first, that he, Ron, and Hermione would be permitted to use the Patronus charm in the courtroom in the presence of Dementors, and second, that he should be worried about nothing. It was as though she thought that the trials would provide him with a level of closure on the war, an understanding of the political and moral state of the country, and a sense of security that the more radical of Voldemort's supporters would be imprisoned at last. In truth, Harry didn't know how to feel about it all.

He was drenched in a cold sweat, although his nightly dose of sleeping potion seemed to have worked fine, at least for a few hours. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and he rubbed his eyes in the light of the moon. He looked out the window, and saw the water reflecting the pale light of the moon serenely.

He thought of what was going to happen today, and he was suddenly extremely unnerved. Martha had said that the trials would likely take several days, and he knew that these next few days would be some of the most uncomfortable he'd ever had, no matter how much Martha assured him otherwise.

He thought of the Malfoys: the smugness of Lucius, standing in the shadow of William Flemish, confidence surging around their case for freedom; the warmth of Narcissa, who continued to treat Harry as family; and the uncertain, unyielding bond starting to mutate between himself and Draco, who was cleaving to the notion of staying as separate from Harry as possible. Harry couldn't help but feel uneasy about telling Draco about the American Exchange: he didn't know why, but he couldn't shake the feeling that telling Draco was directly correlated to his imminent doom.

He lay back down in bed, looking up at the ceiling as though he could see into the universe beyond. Somewhere out there was his parents, and Sirius, and Remus, and Dumbledore, and he wondered vaguely if they had the answers to life that he so desperately desired. He felt his eyes droop, and he was asleep before he could imagine what any of them would say to console him.

oOo

Harry awoke to his alarm quite earlier than he had anticipated, and he fumbled for his glasses on the bedside table. He put them on, sidled himself out of bed, and prepared for the day.

While he was in the shower, he went over what Martha had said in his last meeting with her. He remembered to wear dress robes, address the new head of Magical Law Enforcement (she had neglected to say who this person was, and when he had asked, she had said it was to be top secret until the trials) with honestly, but to be respectful, and, most importantly, when he started to tell his story, no matter what happened, he must not stop.

He dried himself off and dressed. He looked at himself briefly in the mirror. His mop of black hair, untidy as ever, did not conceal his pale pallor, and he had dark circles underneath his eyes. But his scar, after years of becoming agitated and fresh, was finally fading.

He met Neville on the landing.

"Good morning, Harry."

"Morning, Neville," yawned Harry. "Did you sleep well?"

"Hardly," said Neville. He bit his lip, gave Harry a searching look, and said, "Are you nervous? About today?"

"A bit," said Harry softly. "I don't want to think about it anymore than I already have to."

And they started walking down the stairs. Neville cleared his throat. "I'm sure it'll be fine. We are on the winning side, after all."

They got to the main level of the house, and went into the kitchen, where they found Augusta enjoying her morning coffee.

Neville said, "Gran? It's a bit early for your coffee, isn't it?"

"Not at all, Neville," she huffed. "I wanted to see you off. You two have got a big day."

She gestured towards a special edition of the Daily Prophet, which bore the headline: _DEATH EATER TRIALS BEGIN TODAY, HARRY POTTER TO TESTIFY_. Harry saw Neville roll his eyes out of his peripheral vision, and he sighed.

In the next room, there was a sudden roar from the fireplace, and Neville, Augusta, and Harry went to greet Ron and Hermione, who stepped out of the Floo at that moment. Ron was dressed in what were unmistakably Auror robes, and Hermione was wearing a set of new dress robes. They were holding hands and looking anxious to meet Neville and Harry, but they both beamed at them upon seeing them. Hermione rushed forward giving Harry a big hug. Roon shook hans with Neville.

"How you doing?" Hermione said.

"I'm fine, Hermione," said Harry weakly, and she let him go, she hugged Neville, who whispered something in here ear, Ron turned you Harry and said, "You're… looking good, mate."

"What?" said Harry, confused. "What are you on about?"

Ron went a little pink and said, "I just mean… You're looking good, for being so…"

"What?" said Harry quickly. Hermione and Neville looked nervously from Harry to Ron.

"I'm just," said Ron, "Happy to see you, Harry."

Harry looked at Ron, and appreciation spread like melting butter inside him. He said, "I'm sorry, Ron. I'm sorry for being so…"

"No, Harry," said Ron shortly. "It's okay. It's all okay."

Neville looked both knowing and proud of Harry, and Hermione was blinking back tears. Harry held out his arms in a hopeful gesture, and Ron hugged him.

It was nice to have Ron back again.

Harry and Ron released each other, and Neville said, "See, Harry. I knew he'd come around."

Harry and Ron laughed, and Augusta cleared her throat from behind them. She pointed at the clock, and Ron checked his wristwatch for a second opinion, and then quickly said, "Right, mate. Here's how this is going to work.

"Kingsley has devised a way for you to get into the Ministry with the least trouble, but he had to go through all sorts of bloody channels to get to do it. We're going to take the Floo Network into the Fire Room in the Department of Mysteries, where the modern Floo Network was developed."

Harry nodded. While he didn't like the idea of returning to the Department of Mysteries, he knew that it was close to the courtrooms where the Death Eater trials were sure to be held.

Hermione grabbed onto Ron's hand, and she said, "Now, listen to me, Harry. It's absolutely crucial that when you get to the Fire Room, you stay as clam as possible. The experiments in the room are extremely temperamental and may explode. Or worse. Ron and I came through that way and…"

She trailed off, but Ron said, "We can't say what's in there, but it's dangerous. There's a reason why some rooms in the Department of Ministries stay locked."

Harry nodded, and said, "Let's go."

"Wait," said Neville. "I'm going with you."

"Neville," said Ron tiredly, "You won't be allowed in the courtroom. Kingsley and Meeker made sure that it would be just the three of us."

"I know, but… I could wait outside for moral support."

Hermione, Harry, and Ron looked at Neville, each giving him a different look; Hermione considering him, Harry looked hopeful and grateful, and Ron was squinting at him, calculating a solution. Ron looked a Hermione, who slowly began to nod.

"All right," he said. "You can come."

Neville happily joined him. They bade Augusta goodbye, and then Ron accompanied Harry through the flames.

oOo

Harry and Ron emerged into the Fire Room in the Department of Mysteries, and found themselves face-to-face with a fiery Tyrannosaurus rex. Harry's heart rate immediately rose, but he stayed as clam and unmoving as possible, the beast slowly turned away and walked to the other end of the cavernous room.

The room was filled with beasts like the Tyrannosaurus, completely made of fire, and wandering the room with trainers who were covered in dragonhide bodysuits. Harry and Ron crossed the room carefully and quietly, edging around a scarlet crocodile, which snapped its jaws at the sight of them, fire spilling from its nostrils, and an orange rhinoceros, which pawed the ground when the approached, until they reached the door on the far side of the room, where they waited for Hermione and Neville, who had just appeared in the fireplace. Neville looked completely unnerved, and he heard Ron mutter, "Fuck. Neville's going to make this hard."

Hermione and Neville skirted around the perimeter of the room, and they met Ron and Harry with relief on their faces. They departed, and found themselves in the circular room with candles in brackets. While the walls rotated, Hermione said, "See why we can't talk about that? They're trying to tame Fiendfyre."

Harry nodded. The walls stopped rotating and Ron said, "Show us the way out."

A door to their left sprang open, and they left the Department of Mysteries, following Ron along the labyrinth of hallways to courtroom 10. There was a group of Aurors standing guard at the room, and Ron flashed a badge for them.

One of them laughed, "Give it up, rookie. We know Harry Potter when we see him."

Ron went scarlet, and Hermione held his hand, willing him to control himself. Ron visibly relaxed with Hermione's touch. He turned to the Auror, and said, "Right, then, Dawlish. Neville's going to stay out here with you and we're going to meet him when we're done."

Dawlish nodded. Neville looked at the three and said, "Good luck."

And with that, Harry, Ron, and Hermione entered courtroom ten. It was just as Harry remembered it: a towering room, lit by torches, with a chained chair in the center, and the entire Wizengamot before them. The first bench was occupied by an assortment of people whom Harry recognized instantly. From this row, Arthur Weasley called out, "Ah! Mr. Potter, Ms. Granger, Mr… Weasley. Please have a seat."

He indicated the benches across from the Wizengamot on the other side of the chained chair. Arthur cleared his throat and said, "Let us begin. Trials of those who have committed war crimes against the Ministry of Magic under the influence of Tom Marvolo Riddle, otherwise known as Lord Voldemort, hereby to be known as the Death Eater Trials of the first of July, into offences committed under the International Statute of Secrecy by those who have referred to themselves as the Death Eaters. Interrogators: Kingsley Atticus Shackebolt, Minister for Magic; Arthur Charles Weasley, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Percy Ignatius Weasley, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister and Court Scribe; Head of the Auror Department, Gawain Reginald Robards; Psychologist and Auror Training Advisor, Martha Sophia Meeker; Auror Training Advisors, Athene Aurore Calliope and Evan Thomas Prenticoat; Chief Enchantress and Headmistress of Hogwarts School, Minerva McGonagall; and Chief Warlock, Aberforth Frederick Caprifeild Henry Dumbledore. Witnesses to the Defense: Harry James Potter, Ronald Bilius Weasley, and Hermione Jean Granger. We begin at approximately 8:13 in the morning.

"Mr. Potter, please come forward and have a seat," said Arthur. Harry did so, and the chains did not bind him; rather, they vanished the moment he touched the chair. He gazed up at the crowd above him and surveyed them. Percy was feverishly taking notes, Athene Calliope was whispering something in McGonigall's ear, and when he made eye contact with Martha, she gave him a nod and a wink.

A member of the Wizengamot whom Harry did not know was bringing a tray with a goblet on it towards him. Arthur Weasley said, "Mr. Potter, you will please drink this Veritaserum, which will guarantee honesty while you tell us the full story."

Harry drank from the goblet on the tray, and felt his mind instantly become crystal clear. Arthur Weasley leaned forward and said, "Let us begin from the beginning."

As though from a long way off, Harry heard himself begin talking about memories he didn't even know he remembered: that terrible night that Voldemort killed his parents; Dumbledore, McGonagall and Hagrid taking him to the Dursleys; his years of abuse at the hands of the Dursleys, which was met by abject horror and silent outrage from the Wizengamot: it was not public knowledge that Harry had grown up in the cupboard under the stairs. He continued on to the drunken rampages of Aunt Marge, and the strange occurrences of early magical abilities, to speaking to the boa constrictor at the zoo and receiving his Hogwarts letters.

He talked about going to Hogwarts, about how many school rules he, Ron, and Hermione had broken over their educational careers (McGonagall's nostrils flared numerous times during this part of the story), and about each time he had dealt with Lord Voldemort. He reported on Tom Riddle's diary and how Lucius Malfoy had caused the Chamber of Secrets to be opened. He recounted his encounter with Sirius Black, and explained all about the history of the Marauders, even revealing the existence of the Marauder's Map.

He described his experience in the Triwizard Tournament, and witnessing the rise of Lord Voldemort and Cedric Diggory's death. He spoke out on the year that followed, of Umbridge's reign of terror at Hogwarts (the Wizengamot shifted uncomfortably through these revelations while McGonagall looked smug), about Dumbledore's Army and the Room of Requirement, and about the battle in the Department of Mysteries and Sirius's death. He was forced to relive his frequent visits to Voldemort's past in Dumbledore's pensieve, and his discoveries in the Half-Blood Prince's copy of Advanced Potions Making, including the cursing of Draco Malfoy. He continued on, explaining fully about Horcruxes, and the true nature of Tom Riddle's diary and Marvolo Gault's ring. He told them about the cave and the Inferi, Draco's refusal to kill Dumbledore and about Dumbledore's death at the hands of Severus Snape.

He detailed the story of the previous year, and the desperate search for the Horcruxes. He told them about infiltrating the Ministry and finding Slytherin's locket, about camping with Ron and Hermione, and about Ron's abandonment of him and Hermione. When Harry had said this, distantly he thought that he had never seen Arthur Weasley look angrier that he did, and felt deeply sorry for Ron's mistake. He told them of Godric's Hallow and Nagini hiding inside Bathilda Bagshot's body (Martha looked sick and Aberforth swore under his breath), about the silver doe and Ron's return, and on visiting Xenophilius Lovegood and the existence of the Deathly Hallows. He explained about Voldemort's quest for the Elder Wand and his desecration of Dumbledore's tomb.

He told the Wizengamot about getting apprehended and taken to Malfoy Manor, where Draco had tried to protect him and Dobby had died; he talked about robbing Helga Hufflepuff's cup from Bellatrix Lestrange's vault in Gringotts. He retold the story of the battle of Hogwarts: of searching or Ravenclaw's diadem, of the Fiendfyre in the Room of Requirement, of witnessing the deaths of Fred and Snape. He told them all about Snape's life and about how he had loved his mother, and about how what he saw with the resurrection stone on his way to sacrifice himself. He explained about King's cross, and waking up alive once again, and about how Narcissa Malfoy had saved his life.

He reached the end of his story, speaking on the death of Voldemort and the last few weeks: his meetings with Martha and living at the House on the Cliffs with Neville. He felt the potion's effect lift, and he stopped, somewhat abruptly, choosing to neglect to tell the Wizengamot about his meetings with the Malfoys.

After Harry was finished talking, the Wizengamot sat in shocked silence for several minutes. Some of the members looked puzzled, and a few, including Arthur, Martha and Percy, looked deeply resigned. Arthur glanced down at his watch, and said, "It's nearly 1:30 in the afternoon. Mr. Weasley," he called down the row to Percy, "please duplicate your notes for each member of the Wizengamot. We shall take an hour and a half for lunch."

oOo

Hermione led Neville, Ron, and Harry to a Muggle café in another part of London, far from the Ministry, where the four of them joked and laughed their way through fish and chips, trying desperately to lighten the mood.

When they returned at 3:00, the Wizengamot called Ron and Hermione forward in turn and asked them questions to supplement the information given by Harry during the first five hours of testimony. When the Wizengamot was finished interrogating them, McGonagall stood, and gave testimony on the events at Hogwarts during the last year and the horrors of the Carrows. She said, "Unfortunately, I was not directly involved in the meetings of the group known as Dumbledore's Army, but I did what could to help conceal their meetings from the Carrows."

Harry, who was listening to McGonagall with only half his attention, suddenly said, "But…"

The entire courtroom turn to look at him, and he recoiled. He said slowly, "Neville Longbottom came with us today for moral support. I'm sure he could help with that, Professor."

"Certainly," said McGonagall, looking at the Wizengamot. "Do we have time to interrogate him, Arthur?"

"Yes, Minerva, if you think that would be best," said Arthur swiftly. Ron got up and poked his head out of the door, bringing in Neville, who looked alarmed.

Neville sat in the chained chair, and the Wizengamot continued on to question him concerning the year of darkness that he had endured as the leader of Dumbledore's Army. When he had finished telling all the horrors of Hogwarts under the Carrows, Harry felt sick and, by the looks on their face, so too did most of the Wizengamot.

Neville came back and sat by Harry, with whom he exchanged a knowing glance. They were going to go find some little pub in the middle of nowhere with Ron and Hermione and that was that.

Arthur Weasley rose, and addressed the four young adults across the hall. "Thank you for your testimony. You will be offered a full pardon in exchange for your testimony. Please return at 8:15 tomorrow morning and each morning following until the conclusion of the Death Eater trials."

He turned and addressed the Wizengamot. "We will meet tomorrow at 8:00 to beginning trying the Death Eaters based on the information we have learned today. Please review the notes that will be passed to you on your departure."

oOo

It was July 2nd, and Narcissa Malfoy was tugging at Draco's tie with trembling fingers, hoping to look absolutely perfectly composed for the Wizengamot. William Flemish had somehow managed to get the Wizengamot to agree to the Malfoys being the first Death Eaters to be tried. They were standing outside Malfoy Manor, looking like three pale statues in the blistering summer sun.

Aurors arrived at approximately 8:20, and they obediently Apparated alongside them into the Atrium of the Ministry, where they were greeted with the jeers of reporters and the flashes of cameras. They were escorted to the security desk, where Narcissa's and Draco's wands were registered and confiscated by the Aurors, and then they went to the golden grills and descended into the Ministry, one to a lift, accompanied by two Aurors each.

They reached the Department of Mysteries, and a sudden coldness swept over them, and they looked up to see Dementors floating above them. The Aurors backed away and the Dementors swopped down upon them, grabbing their arms with rotting hands, cold as ice.

The Dementors began to escort the three Malfoys into the countroom, and all three had different reactions: Lucius became distant and worn, looking decades older; Narcissa looked stony and proud, but her eyes had begun to excrete tears at an alarming rather; and Draco had promptly fainted after the first touch, the Dementors dragging him along unceremoniously. William Flemish and the Aurors trailed behind them.

They entered the courtroom, and the Dementors seated them in the three chained chairs, which bound them. The crowd watched silently as the Dementors glided to the back of the room, repelled by three patronuses on the far left side of the Wizengamot: an otter, a dog, and a stag. The otter was resting its head on the dog's body.

"Day two of the Death Eater Trials," said Arthur Weasley's stern voice. "Today we examine the guilt of Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, Narcissa Walburga Malfoy, and Draco Lucius Malfoy into offences committed under the International Statute of Secrecy. Interrogators: Kingsley Atticus Shackebolt, Minister for Magic; Arthur Charles Weasley, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Percy Ignatius Weasley, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister and Court Scribe; Head of the Auror Department, Gawain Reginald Robards; Psychologist and Auror Training Advisor, Martha Sophia Meeker; Auror Training Advisors, Athene Aurore Calliope and Evan Thomas Prenticoat; Chief Enchantress and Headmistress of Hogwarts School, Minerva McGonagall; and Chief Warlock, Aberforth Frederick Caprifeild Henry Dumbledore. Witnesses to the Defense: Harry James Potter, Ronald Bilius Weasley, Neville Franklin Longbottom, and Hermione Jean Granger. We begin at approximately 8:30 in the morning."

"Witness to the Defense: William Giovanni Flemish," said the calm voice of William Flemish from the door. He strode across the room, pointed his wand at Draco and revived him.

"Ah, yes," said Arthur, nodding to Percy. "How could we forget?"

"I hardly thought you had," countered Flemish. Harry saw why the Malfoys had hired him at once.

The Wizengamot took turns firing off questions based on the testimonies of Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville from the previous day. For nearly a quarter of an hour, Arthur Weasley grilled Lucius Malfoy on his involvement with the Dark Arts, and William Flemish deflected each and every question with clearly rehearsed answers until the came to the point of Tom Riddle's diary, where Flemish called into question the fact that Arthur Weasley may be too close to the issue of his daughter being curse by one of Voldemort's Horcuxes. Kingsley took over for Arthur and it was stated that while Lucius Malfoy knew that the diary was a dark object, he didn't know the nature of the object itself, and that he was merely getting rid of it in response to tighter Ministry raids at the time.

Athene Calliope took nearly as long as Arthur Weasley, grilling Lucius and Narcissa on their involvement with the Death Eaters as of Voldemort's return to power. It was stated and reiterated that their active involvement with the Dark lord ceased as soon as Voldemort had given Draco the mission to murder Albus Dumbledore. McGonagall took over here, questioning Draco on his intentions in murdering the former headmaster, and he said point blank that he never though he could do, and was constantly under threat from Bellatrix and other Death Eaters with high ranks.

When McGonagall had finished, Martha Meeker asked each of the Malfoys to recount the previous year in turn, in which it slowing became painfully apparent that the Malfoys had become scorned victims of Lord Voldemort and had rebelled against them to the extent they could without getting killed. Martha was especially interested in the fact that Draco had protected Harry at Malfoy Manor, and that Narcissa had protected Harry in the Forbidden Forest.

Kingsley leaned into Arthur, whispering something into his ear. Arthur was frowning, and he said, suddenly, breaking off Kingsley mid-sentence, "Before we make a decision on your involvement in the war, we would like to ask a few questions concerning the organization and operations of the Death Eaters."

William Flemish made no objection, and submitted four scrolls of parchment to Percy. Lucius then went on to explain that Voldemort had, after killing Harry, planned his world conquest. He gave specific details on the identities of Voldemort's domestic and international supporters, including names and positions among his ranks. The Wizengamot was muttering furiously, and it was clear that this was a goldmine of previously unrecorded information.

When Arthur Weasley called for a vote, the Wizengamot unanimously voted in favor of clearly the accused of all charges. The chains on the chairs released the Malfoys at once, and they followed William Flemish out of the courtroom, the Dementors gliding after them.

oOo

The rest of the Death Eater trials went quite swimmingly when Harry looked back on them, and they did give him a wonderful sense of relief.

The Carrows were persecuted and sentenced to a lifetime in Azkaban for their unspeakable crimes at Hogwarts. They were followed by Fenrir Greyback, Antonin Dolohov, Macnair, Rowle, Rookwood, and Yaxley, among other lesser Death Eaters.

One slightly surprising inclusion in the trials was that of Dolores Umbridge, who was convicted for cruel and unusual punishment and treason. To Harry and Hermione's delight, she was sent to Azkaban with a life sentence.

When the trials were over, the Wizengamot asked Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville to stand, and Kingsley brought forward several boxes, each with a golden medal inside them. He rumbled, "Order of Merlin, First Class, presented to Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Neville Longbottom, for services to the Ministry of Magic and to the Wizarding World."

Martha was right all along: Harry was happier than he'd been in a long time, and he hoped his happiness would continue in the days to come.

* * *

Author's Note:

This chapter was bloody hard. I know it's a little saccharine at the end, but there you go.

I will say this: if you haven't read "Dumbledore's Army and the Year of Darkness" by Thanfiction, you need to go do that straightaway. I love it so much that I almost treat it like canon. ( s/4315906/1/Dumbledore-s-Army-and-the-Year-of-Darkness)

From here on out, it's humor. It's light, it's fun, and it's going to be great.

-TG


	11. Chapter 11: A New Start

Chapter 11: A New Start

"So, Harry," said Martha, relaxing into one of the plush seats in her office. "How have you been doing?"

It was a month after the conclusion of the Death Eater Trials, and while Harry was still unable to show his face in public without reporters badgering him, he was beginning to feel the magnitude of his freedom from fighting Dark wizards. Martha had decreased the frequency of meeting with him meetings towards the end of July to weekly instead of every two days.

"I'm doing well, thanks," said Harry without hesitation.

"Have you heard anything back from the American Exchange?"

This had been the primary topic of conversation between Harry and Martha over the last couple weeks. He, Hermione, and Neville had all submitted their applications to the American Exchange: Neville had applied to the Sonoran Herbology Institute, with recommendation letters from Pomona Sprout and the British Herbology Guild, which Neville had joined before the start of sixth year at Professor Sprout's recommendation; as McGonagall had predicted, Hermione had applied to the American Sorcerer's Academy with her nearly perfect O.W.L. grades, recommendation letters from McGonagall, Flitwick, Vector, Slughorn, Sinistra, Babbling, and Kingsley Shacklebolt, and no less than six essays written during her time at Hogwarts; and Harry had applied to the Pacific Transfiguration Institute with letters of recommendation from McGonagall and Slughorn (who had insisted on writing him one) and two essays, one about himself and his ambitions (which he thought he'd miserably failed) and one on his favorite color and why it was so.

"No," said Harry. "But Professor McGonagall said we'd hear back any day now."

"I'm sure you'll get in," said Martha soothingly.

"Are you?"

"Yes," Martha said, smirking. "You're ready to go, if you are accepted?"

"Yeah," said Harry. He'd already packed for hunting the Horcruxes. He didn't seen how this would be any different. Hermione had bought him a stylish Muggle suitcase and put an undetectable extension charm on it, though Harry was quite sure all his worldly possessions would have fit without the charm at all.

"Are you excited?"

"I guess," said Harry, uncertainty welling up inside him again.

"It's a long time to be away, Harry," said Martha slowly. "A whole year."

"Yeah."

"I have a colleague in America whom you can see, if you want," said Martha. "In fact, I'd really appreciate it if you would check in with him when you can."

"Sure," said Harry.

Martha studied him for a few moments, and said, "And you're doing fine otherwise, Harry?"

"Yeah, I am," said Harry calmly.

"Then, said Martha, a hint of triumph in her voice, "I don't think there's anything else I can really do for you. I think you're ready to face a great new world, Harry. I know you are."

oOo

The next day, Harry received a letter from Minerva McGonagall. It requested his attendance to a meeting in her office at noon. Neville received a letter just like his, and they grinned at each other over the breakfast table.

At 11:50, Hermione appeared in the fireplace in the House on the Cliffs, looking anxious.

"Harry, Neville," she huffed. "You got a letter too?"

They both held up their letters, and she launched herself at both of them. She cried, "It's got to be a good thing, right? We're bound to have gotten in."

"Yeah," said Harry. Looking down at his letter, he said, "We should get going, Hermione."

Together, Hermione, Neville, and Harry all embarked through the Floo and into McGonagall's study at Hogwarts, where they were greeted by McGonagall sitting behind the Headmistress's desk and four chairs facing her, one of which was already occupied by the sleek head of Draco Malfoy.

oOo

Hermione and Neville looked stunned and speechless as Draco looked towards the fireplace, giving them the tiniest smirk, but the reactions of Hermione and Neville could not compare with Harry's look of bleak realization. By telling Draco all about the American Exchange, he might as well have invited him along with them.

Hermione recovered first and said, "Professor, what is Malfoy doing here?"

Professor McGonagall was looking very intently at Harry, Neville and Hermione and she said, "Please, sit, you three."

Above her, the portrait of Albus Dumbledore surveyed the four of them with mild interested. Hermione sat furthest from Draco she could, Neville and Neville sat next to her, leaving Harry to sit next to Draco, who leaned in and said, "Some manners your friends have, Potter."

Harry ignored him, and, thankfully, Hermione, Neville and McGonagall hadn't heard. McGonagall had four neat little letters on her desk, all of which were unopened. Harry saw Hermione visibly tense.

McGonagall gestured towards the letters and said, "I received these last evening, and I wanted to gather you to read them. I do not yet know the results of your applications to the American Exchange."

She levitated each letter to its addressee, and said, "Please open your letters now."

They obeyed. Harry fumbled with his letter, watching Hermione shake vigorously, and Draco and Neville calmly tear open their envelopes. A piece of light green paper fell out of Harry's envelope, and he read:

_Dear Mr. Potter, _

_I am pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to the Pacific Transfiguration Institute as part of the American Exchange. On behalf of the faculty here, know that we greatly appreciated your sentiments about your mother's eye color and your uncertainty about your future. We feel that PTI is the perfect place for you to learn and grow in your magical journey, and would be honored if you would allow us to guide you on your path. _

_Again, congratulations, and we will see you on September first. _

_Sincerely,_

_Morgan Wright _

_Dean _

Harry said, his throat dry, "I got in."

Neville said, "So did I."

"I also," said Draco.

McGonagall's eyes swiveled to Hermione, and she was scanning the letter. She put it down and said, "Me too."

McGonagall, smiling, said, "Excellent! Congratulations to you all."

She strode around the desk and continued, "Now, there are several things that we need to do in preparation for the American Exchange."

"Such as?" interrupted Draco coolly.

"Kindly do not interrupt me, Mr. Malfoy," quipped McGonagall. "First, I need to you to understand that first you will be representing Hogwarts School and wizarding England. We are a trying to rebuild partnerships with the United States that have dissolved over time. If you do anything to disrupt this process, you may be punished accordingly.

"Second, please understand that you will be in the United States for one whole year, and that, unless in case of an emergency, you will not be permitted to return to England. Since the Cold War, the American magical government has been extremely careful about whom they allow into their country from Europe, and rightly so; it was the ingenuity of European magicians and alchemists than created their most deadly weapons. You cannot Apparate or Disapparate in or out of the United States, and they do not permit the use of Owl Post or participation in the global Floo Network. It is a different world in the United States, but it is a rich place to complete your magical educations."

The four young adults nodded, and Hermione cleared her throat.

"Yes, Ms. Granger?"

"If we wanted to communicate with people in Britain, how would we do so?"

"The Americans use their international post office. The letters will be delivered to the Ministry, where they will be transferred to Owl Post."

Neville piped up, "How are we supposed to get around once we get into the country?"

"Once you are in America, Apparation is permitted as a means of travel throughout the continental United States," said McGonagall. "But the Americans are much stricter about where Apparition is permitted."

Draco narrowed his eyes and said, "If we're not allowed to Apparate or use the Floo, how on earth are we supposed to get there?"

A stony looked passed over McGonagall's face, and she said, "You must obtain passports and travel by airplane."

She cast a look at Hermione, who nodded. Hermione looked and Draco, and then, to the shock of Neville and Harry, she burst out laughing. Draco's face was set with a look of abject horror.

Harry turned to look at Neville who was looking, at best, puzzled about this realization. Harry had never been on an airplane, but Uncle Vernon had always described the seats as being too ruddy small. In retrospect, most seats were probably too small for Uncle Vernon.

Draco sputtered, "Surely there's another way into the country than one of those Muggle deathtraps?!"

"I'm afraid not, Mr. Malfoy," said McGonagall. "You will have to endure the flight from London to New York."

"They're actually quite safe, Malfoy," said Hermione smoothly. "We'll probably fly in a Boeing aircraft."

"No, Ms. Granger," said McGonagall, and briefly look of triumph crossed Albus Dumbledore's face behind her. "You will be travelling on the Concorde."

This meant nothing to Harry, Neville, and Draco, but Hermione gasped. Apparently a flight on the Concorde was a big deal. Hermione, who had noticed the boys' vacant expressions, recited, "The Concorde jet is a luxury airplane that travels twice the speed of sound. It was developed by British Airways and Air France. On commercial airliners like Boeings, you can usually get to America in eight hours. The Concorde gets there in half the time. How on earth did we get tickets, Professor?"

She turned, and pointed at the portrait of Dumbledore. Even Hermione looked puzzled, and Mcgonagall said, "Albus Dumbledore was one of the lead designers on the fleet of Concordes worldwide."

"Wow," said Hermione. "That's… Wow."

Neville and Harry exchanged a look and Draco said, "I suppose, if it's absolutely the only way of getting there, and it was designed by wizards…"

"It was designed by both Muggles and wizards, Mr. Malfoy, which brings me to my third point," said McGonagall, looking sternly at Malfoy. "The Americans can be very conscientious of discrimination against Muggles. Their society is as integrated as possible; many of their technologies are riddled with magic, though the Muggles hardly ever notice. They do not tolerate negative attitudes towards Muggles. Am I clear?"

"Yes," said Malfoy sharply.

"Good," said McGonagall firmly. "I expect you on your best behavior, Mr. Malfoy. You will remember the terms in which I agreed to allow you to apply.

"Yes," said Malfoy, sounding resigned.

"Professor," said Neville, and she rounded on him. "What should we bring?"

"Well," McGonagall said. "They, being the American Department of Magic, included a suggested list of things to bring and thing to leave at home, and I'll get each of you a copy so you can pack accordingly. What's more important is what not to bring: you may not bring animals, potion ingredients, potions, robes, broomsticks, any sort of weapons or any magical artifacts, and your wands must be stored in your bags that are checked at registration. You will not have access to your wands during the flight."

"What?!" yelped Malfoy. "But, how will we…"

"Do not worry about it, Mr. Malfoy," said McGonagall exasperatedly. "Your wands will be returned to you once you get into America. All these regulations are for safety and security."

Malfoy growled and fell silent. Harry said, "How will we get to London?"

"I referred to Kingsley on the matter, and a member of the Ministry will escort you. Your families may also see you off if they wish."

Harry nodded, wondering who would see them off. Certainly Augusta would want to bid them farewell. Maybe Ron would be able to join them.

"When do we leave?" said Neville.

"You will be leaving on August 28th, which is ten days from now. You will report to the Ministry of Magic with all your belongings, and from them you will be transported to London Heathrow Airport. You will be escorted by the Ministry authority and your families to your flight. Do you have any other questions?" said McGonagall.

They all shook their heads. McGonagall said, "Very well. Mr. Longbottom, I would suggest that you go down to the greenhouses: Professor Sprout will be delighted to hear that you were accepted to the American Exchange; Mr. Malfoy, I suggest you return to Malfoy Manor and discuss the American Exchange with your parents; Mr. Potter, Ms. Granger, I have a few things I would like to discuss with you."

Neville hugged Harry and Hermione, grasping his letter in one hand like a lifeline, and then turned to Malfoy, holding out his hand. Malfoy hesitated, and shook it once. Neville departed through the door to the Headmaster's study.

Malfoy turned to Harry and Hermione. He gave them a curt nod, and then departed through the fireplace. The moment he had gone, Hermione turned to McGonagall and said, "What is the meaning of this, Professor? Malfoy? How did he know about the American Exchange?"

"Well, Ms. Granger, I can't say that the program isn't public knowledge, and it technically is open to any qualified applicant, but, well," Minerva sighed, and looked pointedly at Harry. Harry shifted uncomfortably as Hermione looked quizzically at him.

He said, "Er, I may have mentioned it to him when I gave him back his wand."

"You gave him back his wand?" said Hermione, looking stunned.

"I didn't need it," said Harry. McGonagall nodded.

"Well, Mr. Potter, during the Trials, Mr. Malfoy arranged to meet with me to discuss completing his education in the American Exchange, expressing interest in studying at the Laveau Institute. I couldn't stop him from submitting an application, and, well, every single Slytherin who has ever submitted an application to the Laveau Insitute has been accepted."

Hermione sighed heavily, "How can we expect him to be civil, Professor? Draco Malfoy doesn't really have the best track record."

"Shortly before you arrived, I told him that if he was admitted, then I would regularly be checking in on his progress, and that you two would be keeping an eye on him when you can. Can I count on both of you to make sure he stays in line?"

"We'll do what we can, of course," said Hermione. "But I can't guarantee…"

"You have to," said McGonagall.

"We'll do our best," said Harry.

"Excellent," said McGonagall, sporting a large smile. "Congratulations are in order for you, Ms. Granger. As far as I know, you're the first student to be accepted to the American Sorcerer's Academy in over 50 years, isn't that right, Albus?"

"Quite," said the portrait of Albus Dumbledore simply.

"And to you, Mr. Potter, congratulations. I look forward to hearing how you enjoy the Pacific Transfiguration Institute."

"Me too," said Harry. "And good job, Hermione."

"Thanks, Harry," she beamed. "I can't wait."

oOo

To his surprise, packing for the American Exchange was nothing like packing to hunt Horcruxes. He'd packed the suitcase Hermione had bought him over the next week, and found that he owned a lot less having value in his life than he anticipated. He'd packed clothes, his mokeskin pouch, a couple spellbooks.

He'd told a few people that he would be leaving for the American Exchange, including the Weasleys, Andromeda, Luna, and Hagrid, who sent him gifts to help through the next year. Mrs. Weasley sent him three sweaters, all in green: one with a Gryffindor lion on it, one with a British flag, and another with a Snitch; Andromeda sent him another two-way mirror, so he could see Teddy when he was gone; when Luna had heard he was going to the Pacific Institute, she sent him a Muggle book about zoology, insisting that it would come in handy; and Hagrid sent him an a large mokeskin coat, just like the one the gamekeeper himself wore.

On August 27th, the Weasleys hosted a huge party for him, Hermione, and Neville. It was a chance to say goodbye. Ginny avoided him constantly, but that was expected.

Harry couldn't sleep that night, and he was more excited than he'd been in quite a long time.

* * *

Author's Note:

The literary gods have looked upon me favorably today, and my Writer's Block has evaporated!

I am so sorry for keeping this from you for so long, and I will try to update according. I am starting to get bogged down with school and work, so please be understanding if I fall behind again. I haven't forgotten about these characters.

Hope you enjoyed it!

Theo Green


	12. Chapter 12: Farewells and Fascinations

Chapter 12: Farewells and Fascinations

Harry woke up earlier than he'd anticipated the following day. He got up, showered, and bounded down the stairs only to find that Augusta was sitting in the kitchen, reading the Daily Prophet.

She looked up at him and said, "Oh, good, Harry. Have a seat."

He sat down, and she summoned a few pieces of toast and another cup for him. He began to eat, and Augusta said, "I want to talk to you about Neville."

Harry furrowed his eyebrows and swallowed. "What?"

"Yes, Harry, Neville," said Augusta. "I want you to know that when I found out about you and Neville going to America, I wrote to Minerva McGonagall and advised her against it. It's not a question of whether or not I think it's a wonder opportunity for you," she said, noticing his stunned look, "but I must admit that I am concerned about your safety. Many of You-Know-Who's followers are still at large, and I don't want them finding you in America.

"Neville is in one of the most important people in my life, and I have to say that you staying here over the last few months has made you very valuable to me as well. I understand that going to America is what is right, but I… well, I…"

Augusta began to cry silently, and Harry reached his arm across the table, holding onto her wrist. She cleared her throat, and said, "I'm sorry, but…"

"Don't be sorry, Gran."

Neville was standing on the threshold of the kitchen, the handle of a suitcase in one hand. Augusta wiped away her tears.

"Neville," she said, trying to regain the stern quality in her voice. "I don't like being weak about things like this."

"Loving someone isn't being weak," said Neville simply.

"And I don't like being… looking…"

"Vulnerable," finished Harry. He knew the feeling. Augusta nodded.

"Gran," said Neville. "I don't have to go, if you don't…"

"No, Neville," said Augusta unwaveringly. "I know this is what you want."

"I want you to be happy," said Neville quietly.

Augusta threw Harry off her wrist and rose, walking over to Neville, she looked up into his eyes and said, "Neville, I am so proud of you, and the thought that you are doing great things brings me happiness. This is your path, and I don't want anyone to deter you from it."

Neville hugged her, and she embraced back.

"I love you, Gran."

"I love you too, Neville."

oOo

Harry, Hermione, Neville, and Draco were standing in Kingsley Shacklebolt's office a short while later, having all arrived at the Ministry of Magic well before 10:00. Neville and Harry were looking tired and sober, Draco was wearing an expression of unmasked discomfort, and Hermione was bouncing in excitement.

Kingsley had reiterated much of what McGonagall had said concerning the political nature of the international magic community, and recognized the four young adults and international ambassadors.

"Lastly," he was saying, turning to his desk and holding out a small box, "it is traditional to offer the host country a gift when sending new ambassadors. Generously donated by Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, I am happy to send with you a full sampler from the store, shrunken down to fit inside one of your suitcases. Give my regards to the head of the American Department of Magic. I think he'll enjoy the jokes right about now."

Kingsley escorted them out of his office, and along towards the waiting room that held their families who had chosen to accompany them to the airport. There stood Augusta Longbottom and Narcissa Malfoy, who were exchanging polite conversation on the prices at the apothecary, and Ron and Arthur Weasley, who were talking quietly to one another.

Arthur led the way out of the room, following along the serpentine hallways to a wing of the Ministry none of the four ambassadors had been to before. It was a parking garage, and waiting for them was a handsome electric blue taxi cab. Sliver letters on the side of it emblazoned the words: THE KNAVE CAB.

The driver of the taxi got out of the driver's seat and bustled to open the door for them. He was a graying old gentleman wearing a suit with quite a lot of frizzy silver hair, which looked like it had been thoroughly electrocuted. He opened the passenger door and said, "Welcome to the Knave Cab, convenient transportation for the witch or wizard traveling to London Heathrow Airport. I am your driver, Bertie Prang, and I must ask that you wear your seatbelts."

They each got inside with their suitcases, and found that they were sitting in a spacious sitting room, complete with minibar and Jacuzzi. Bertie the driver returned to the driver's seat, and, after waving goodbye to Kinsgley, the taxi gave an almighty lurch in the direction of the airport.

It was an uneventful ride, outside of the polite conversations shared between the Cab's passengers. When they arrived at Heathrow, they unloaded, and each of they turned to Arthur, who was their liaison from the Ministry, but he was staring, transfixed, with his mouth wide open at the sky, in which several airplanes could be seen taking of and preparing to land.

Ron cleared his throat and said, "Dad, where are we supposed to go?"

"Oh, yes," said Arthur distractedly. "Well, we go to check-in, which is over there."

They went in the direction of the British Airways desk, and waited patiently in line to check their bags. Arthur turned to the four of them and said, "Everyone got their wands in their bags?"

Neville, Harry, and Hermione nodded, but Draco opened his suitcase unceremoniously, carefully setting his wandbox inside the bag. He closed it again, casting a sour look around him. If Narcissa shared her son's distaste, she did not show it.

They reached the desk and after verifying identities and checking bags, they were advised towards the departures, and Arthur led the way towards security. At security, they were approached by a man wearing the common security uniform, and when he whispered something to Arthur, he spun around and led them to a separate screening room, where they were each thoroughly checked by both Muggle and magical means before led to a few small vehicles on the tarmac, which sped off in the direction of a large, streamlined white jet once they had gotten in and settled.

"Excuse me, sir, but do you know how airplanes stay up?" said Arthur to the driver, who was quite clearly a Muggle.

The driver chortled and said, "I dunno, mate. I guess it must be magic or something."

"Oh," said Arthur, clearly disappointed in that explanation. They stopped short of the magnificent airplane, which was sporting the British Airways logo and had a large staircase up to the passenger cabin.

The group got out and stood next to the plane, saying their goodbyes. Harry shared hugs with Augusta, Arthur, and Narcissa, and then with Ron. The hug with Ron was significantly longer than the ones with the adults, and Harry felt, for the first time, guilty for leaving and ashamed for isolating himself over the summer. Ron squeezed Harry like a python and then said, in his ear, "I need you to promise me a few things, Harry."

"Okay," Harry replied.

"Promise you'll keep in touch?"

"I promise."

"Promise you'll come back?"

"Of course."

"Promise you'll keep her safe?"

Ron released Harry and looked at him, his eyes blazing. Harry felt tears well up in the corners of his eyes, and he nodded. Ron said heavily, "I'll miss you, mate."

"Yeah," said Harry softly. "Me too."

Ron turned to Hermione and took a long, silent look at her, and Harry realized that his two best friends couldn't put off the impending conversation any longer. He saw Hermione's face soften, and tears start to flow down Ron's cheeks, and moved away towards the aircraft.

"Do you have to go?" said Ron weakly, tears coming steadily now.

"Yes, Ron, I do," said Hermione faintly.

Ron looked down, opening and closing his mouth several times, and wiping away a few tears. He said, "Are-are-are you sure?"

Hermione exhaled heavily, starting to cry as well. "Yes, Ron. Yes."

They stood a foot apart, taking hesitant glances at each other.

Ron choked, "I don't… I don't… I don't want to be alone, 'Mione. I don't want to be alone again."

Hermione sadly said, "You won't be. I'll always be there for you."

"I love you," said Ron bluntly.

Hermione perked up, and the caught each other's eyes, and simultaneously, they moved forward and kissed. The held each other for moments, days, years, lifetimes.

Hermione broke away and looked up into Ron's face with steely eyes. "I love you too, Ronald Weasley. Always have, always will."

They kissed again, but briefly, and Hermione hurried towards the stewards pointing her in the direction of the staircase. She waved to him from the top of the stairs, and he waved back solemnly.

oOo

When Hermione got onto the plane, she was directed past Harry and Neville, who were sitting abreast at the front, and who were both giving her an odd look of both bittersweet happiness and pity. She walked towards the only unoccupied seat, and she realized, with a flash of annoyance, that she would be spending the next four hours of travel next to Draco Malfoy.

He was sitting on the window seat, his arms crossed, looking resentful but collected. When Hermione silently took her seat, she didn't pay him the slightest bit of attention. The stewards gave the passengers a brief demonstration of the Concorde's safety features, and then told them that they could find a menu for their flight in their seat pocket. At once, Draco seized his copy of the menu and scanned it, obviously looking for something to criticize. However, as his eyes slid down the piece of heavy cardstock, a look of surprised contentedness graced his face.

"Malfoy," Hermione quipped. "Are you really surprised to see that Muggles can be luxurious too?"

Malfoy stiffened at once, having forgotten with which whom he was sitting next. He retorted, "I wasn't."

Hermione rolled her eyes and took a look at her own menu as the plane taxied into position on the runway. She was impressed by the options, and she said, idly, "What were you planning on ordering for your entrée, Malfoy?"

"None of your business," he snapped. Hermione made no response.

The plane was in position for takeoff when Malfoy said quietly, "What do you think? The veal or the salad?"

Hermione smiled coldly. "Personally, I'd got with the salad. You may want to brace yourself, Malfoy, for takeoff."

"Why would I?" said Malfoy stiffly.

"Because you've never been on an airplane before," said Hermione simply.

"Haven't I?" said Malfoy saccharinely.

"Have you?"

"My parents own a summer home in New York, Granger," said Malfoy coldly. "We fly first class, when we have to."

At that moment, the plane shuddered violently and shot forward. Hermione felt Malfoy's hand instantly clench around hers as they zoomed into the air. When they reached their maximum altitude, Hermione wrenched her hand out of Malfoy's vicegrip.

He looked at her icily and said, "One can never get too accustomed to that sensation."

"I agree," said Hermione stonily. "Why did you pretend to have never have been on a plane in McGonagall's office?"

"Because, Granger," said Malfoy. "I'm a Malfoy. I do what people expect me to do. I say what people expect me to say."

Hermione took a long, calculating look at Draco Malfoy. The man look different somehow; not changed in terms of personality, but perhaps of character. She said, "How many Muggles do you know, Malfoy?"

"Not one, Granger, but did you really need to ask?" said Malfoy airily.

"Yes, actually," said Hermione quickly. "Do you know anything about Muggles?"

Malfoy bit his lip, knowing where this was going. "No, Granger. Not outside what my parents have told me, anyways."

"Then you'd not know," said Hermione somewhat triumphantly, "that Muggles can be just as successful as wizards, would you?"

"How can you be, though?"

"Well," reasoned Hermione. "Take my parents, for instance. Both my mother and father are dentists, and they're quite successful at managing their money. My parents are quite wealthy, Malfoy. I had everything I ever wanted as a child, but I only got it if I deserved it. Sound familiar?"

Malfoy gave her a look of resentment, but there was a glimmer of curiosity about him. He said, "Fine, yes, except the last bit."

"Malfoy, I'm going to say something I never thought I'd say," said Hermione. "I think you and I are more alike that we like to give each other credit for, wouldn't you agree?"

Malfoy retreated a bit and gave Hermione an expression of focused fury. Just then, one of the stewards came by, and asked what they'd like to drink. Hermione said, "Oh, we'll both have the champagne, don't you think, Draco?"

Malfoy continued to stare daggers at Hermione until the steward furnished them with their drinks a moment later. When Draco sipped gently on his champagne and found it to be delicious, his fury with Granger disappeared on the spot.

He slowly said, "Perhaps, Granger, you have a point."

"Good," said Hermione, surfacing from her own glass. "Then from now on, it's Hermione."

"Fine," said Draco smoothly. "Then it's Draco, and nothing less."

"I'd expect the same from you, Draco."

"And I you, Hermione."

They drank. The steward came by and refilled their glasses, and they drank more. Hermione said, "I want to know something, Draco."

"What're you on about, Hermione?"

"Why did you antagonize us so much at Hogwarts?"

"Frankly," said Draco. "It was fun."

Hermione gave him a wary stare, and said with a bite of disbelief, "Really, now?"

"Oh, of course," continued Draco. "Potter and Weasley…"

"Harry and Ron, Draco."

"Oh, please," said Draco. "You expect me to change all my old habits at once?"

"Yes," said Hermione. "Now answer the question."

"Fine," said Malfoy. "Well, they were always so easy to infuriate. Talk about short fuses, right? They were always so center stage, weren't they? And so obnoxious about it, too."

Hermione considered him for a moment. "You know what?"

"I suppose you'll tell me what I do not know, won't you? It's rather your job, isn't it?"

"Oh, shut up," said Hermione, her face pink.

"Make me."

"Fine. It's what you just said that made me hate Harry and Ron at first too."

Draco fell silent, and then he drained the rest of his second glass of champagne. He said, "Well, that did shut me up."

Hermione grinned a little more cruelly than Draco thought possible. "Well, until I figured out that 'center stage' was a damn good place to be, I though Harry and Ron we self-righteous little pricks. They were always so reckless and spiteful and annoying and…"

"Hermione Granger," said Draco sullenly, "you had me at self-righteous."

"I would, wouldn't I?" said Hermione viciously.

"Your bite's worse than your bark, I'll give you that."

Hermione smiled darkly. "You'd know."

"Yeah," sneered Draco. "I still haven't forgiven you for that slap in third year."

"And you won't be getting an apology any time soon."

"Didn't expect so," said Draco lightly. Hermione laughed.

"Who knew that Draco Malfoy was a good conversationalist, eh?" said Hermione.

"Only most people who actually talk to me, and unfortunately that number has significantly dwindled as of late."

Hermione looked at him conspiratorially. "I have another question for you, and you'll probably be surprised I'm asking."

"Ask away, then," moseyed Malfoy.

"Were you and Parkinson ever together?" asked Hermione.

"Fucking hell, no," said Malfoy instantly. "I have different – better tastes than Pansy Parkinson."

"What do you mean by different?"

Malfoy cocked his head and did not answer. Hermione said, "What about your parents, then?"

"What about them, Hermione?"

"How on earth did you get them to let you on this trip?"

"They want me to restore the Malfoy name abroad," sighed Malfoy. "And I said I'd to my best. There are a lot of things my parents and I don't agree to."

"Such as?"

"God, where to start?" said Malfoy, as their lunches arrived. "Let's think… I guess there's joining the Death Eaters, for one thing, and something about trying to befriend Harry Potter and his friends…"

"Well, you've got two of us so far," said Hermione.

"They'll be thrilled," said Malfoy bitterly. "And there was always this arranged marriage they've magically bound to…"

"To whom?" asked Hermione sharply.

"Astoria Greengrass," said Malfoy curtly. "I've never liked her. She's not my type."

"What is your type, then?" said Hermione quizzically.

"Not her, that's for sure," said Draco savagely.

"I've seen her around," said Hermione. "She's attractive enough."

"Not exactly my cup of tea," said Draco, putting a forkful of salad into his mouth.

"If you're not interested in your fellow Slytherins, who'd you be interested in?"

"My parents would skin me alive if I considered anyone else," said Draco darkly. "Nearly did, when mother found out about…"

"About what?" said Hermione, but her brain was already moving fast that the conversation.

"About whom I was attracted to," finished Draco, looking away.

"Was she Muggleborn?"

"No, blood status wasn't the problem."

"What do you…" Hermione trailed off. Draco looked at her, deeply resigned.

He said, "Figured it out, have you?"

"Draco," said Hermione slowly. "Are you… er…"

"What, Granger? Spit it out."

"Are you gay?"

Draco said, "Are you homophobic?"

"No," said Hermione. "My dad's best friend is gay."

"Then yes," said Draco. "I'm gay."

Hermione paused for a moment, willing her brain to slow down. "I bet you parents took that really well."

"Mum said she knew, but father nearly skinned me alive," said Draco softly. "He made me swear I'd join the Death Eaters. He said that if he couldn't beat it out of me, then the Dark Lord would."

Hermione looked horrified. "That's… that's horrible."

"When father told Bellatrix…" said Draco calmly, "Well, you can imagine what she did to me."

Hermione did not take her eyes from Draco's face which looked suddenly skeletal. She said, "I'm sorry."

"Not as sorry as I am."

"I can't imagine…"

"No, you can't," said Draco. "The only thing worse that being less than Pureblood is being homosexual. If you can't reproduce, you're not worth being kept alive. Why do you think there are no Pureblood wizards?"

Hermione stayed stock still.

"So my father kept it as quiet as he could. Bellatrix wanted to kill me herself, or at least have the honor of watching the Dark Lord do it."

Hermione looked sick, and she said, "Draco… Voldemort's dead."

"That doesn't change anything. Not with this."

Hermione tried to change the subject. "Did you ever have anyone you were interested in at Hogwarts?"

"Yeah, but I never had a change with him," said Malfoy quickly.

"Who was it?"

Malfoy did not reply.

"I know Terry Boot of Ravenclaw and Colin Creevey of Gryffindor were gay. It was funny, actually," said Hermione. "I didn't know until about fifth year for sure, but I figured out that Colin was always so… friendly to Harry because he had a huge crush on him."

"Hm," said Draco.

Hermione sighed, "I'm sorry, Draco. I wish there was something I could do."

"There's not, Hermione."

They sat in silence as the steward came and picked up their plates. Draco and Hermione watched out the window as the Concorde gave them a magnificent view of the curvature of the Earth as they began to make their descent.

"I just wish… Things were different," said Draco weakly.

"Me too," said Hermione.

"I'm really sorry for calling you a Mudblood."

"You are?"

"Yeah," said Draco softly. "I didn't know what it felt like to be an outside before I realized I was gay. I hated having to play along, Hermione. I hated myself for it. I hated having to antagonize all of you."

Hermione waited for him to finish, and said, "You know what I want you do in America?"

"What?"

"Be yourself, Draco. Let yourself fall in love, you know? Do things you want to do."

"I intend to, Hermione."

Hermione paused, and said with a faux girly giggle, "So are you going to tell me who it was at Hogwarts or what?"

"Not unless I wanted my penis hexed off," said Draco, grimacing at the thought.

"Is it someone I know, then?" said Hermione, her mind racing again. Draco looked at her with an expression of exasperation. "Is it… Oh god, it's not… no… It's not, Ron, is it?"

"No, it's not Weasley. I don't really know what you see in him," said Draco.

"He's… we're just…"

"You made for a nice show back in England before you got on the plane."

Hermione gave him a very sour look and said, "Look, Draco. It's... We're just right for each other. It's hard to explain."

"You're in love with him." Draco said simply. "There's nothing complicated about being in love with someone."

"How would you know?"

"Because I know it feels," said Draco.

Hermione thought for a moment, and then her eyes became wide. She slowly turned to Draco Malfoy and opened her mouth to speak, but Draco cut across her.

"Finally got there, have you?"

"Yes," said Hermione breathlessly. "But… how? Why?"

Draco shifted in his seat and closed his eyes. "It wasn't just teasing for me. I thought at first that I'd wanted to be friends, but then it became… different, you know? By bullying him, at least I… I could… see him, right? I could talk to him. He'd never have to know."

"And I'm not about to tell him," said Hermione.

"What?" said Draco, nonplussed. "I thought for sure that you'd…"

"Absolutely not," said Hermione. "I am not breaking it to Harry Potter that Draco Malfoy is love with him."

"Sshh, Hermione, fuck!" said Draco, looking scared. "Do you want the whole plane to hear you?"

Hermione lowered her voice to a whisper. "Look, I wouldn't normally say this, but I've had… my suspicions about Harry. He hasn't had the most success with girls."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "He probably just hasn't met the right girl yet."

"Maybe," said Hermione. "But maybe not."

"Very diplomatic of you," said Draco grumpily.

"Quite," said Hermione.

The plane was nearing America now, and they were preparing to land. Hermione said, "I'm not going to say anything you said to me, all right?"

"Okay," said Draco warily.

The landed more smoothly than expected, and the came up to one of the terminals at JFK International Airport. The outline of New York City was glistening on the horizon. When they disembarked from the Concorde, they were greeted by a man wearing a dark suit and sunglasses, who instructed them to follow him. They obeyed, and shortly found themselves in a conference room overlooking the airport.

There was man standing in the middle of the room, and he seemed to have total control over the situation. He had greying hair, bright blue eyes, and a toothy grin. He walked up to the four young British adults and gave them a million dollar grin, pulled out a wand and conjured four squashy navy blue armchairs from thin air.

"My name is President Bill Clinton. Welcome to the United States of America."

* * *

Author's Note:

This chapter was emotional, right? Went from crying to laughing to disgusted to laughing more. Hope you like that cameos in this chapter. Be excited, people. Be very excited.


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